Did You Hear What Happened to April Kepner?
by AuburnFan01
Summary: What if what happened to Charlotte King in Private Practice happened to April? For those of you who've seen PP, this is exactly what you think it's going to be. Rated M for obvious reasons...physical/sexual assault...
1. The Trauma Unit

**A/N: So the summary is basically what's going to happen in the story: a spin-off of what happened to Charlotte King in Shonda Rhimes' other show, **_**Private Practice. **_**However, the plot lines will only be similar in what happens to both characters. After that, the storyline will change, so I don't think I'm ripping off an entire plot line. If I am, please PM me. I don't need you to flame me in a review. **

**Oh, and this is rated M for a reason. For those of you who don't watch **_**Private Practice **_**or don't know what happened to Charlotte King (because the people who decide Emmy nominations apparently don't), the material is much darker than my other fanfictions and contains physical/sexual assault (though I won't be too graphic). **

**This first chapter just sets up what's to come.**

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><p>"Good morning, Dr. Kepner," Owen greeted warmly with a smile as he stood beside the young, perky surgeon. Her auburn hair was tightly pulled back in a ponytail, eyes fixated on the surgical board as she relentless searched for her name. His blue eyes followed her carefully as she moved from left to right, down to up, and back in the other direction. Owen found himself smiling moments later, remembering his days when he wished desperately to be on someone's, anyone's, surgical staff but came up empty.<p>

Yes, he certainly remembered what those days were like and didn't miss them. The pressure of worrying about a surgery, however, was nothing compared to the rigors he had endured while serving in Iraq. That was a different kind of tension, one that had rocked him to the core, leading to post traumatic stress and moments with Cristina that he still wasn't proud of – that he never would forget. Remembering the way his hands had enclosed around her throat still sent chills down his spine.

In an attempt to force the horrible flashback – the result of a flashback itself – away, he smiled gently at April and repeated his greeting.

Her head turned swiftly toward him and the small, confused frown on her face immediately morphed into an innocent, sweet smile. Owen was certain this woman didn't have a hateful bone in her body; the only real display of anger he had seen from her was during the trauma simulation months ago, and that was more of a display of passion than anything else – a passion to save lives, whatever the cost. No matter what anyone said, Owen firmly believed this young woman had the skills to make an excellent trauma surgeon. Her resolve and attitude that day had proven to him she could handle anything, and perhaps offer hope in a field that was wrought with so many casualties.

In a way, she reminded him of O'Malley.

The sheer mention of O'Malley's name still choked Owen up, even though he'd never publicly admit it. George O'Malley wasn't simply an excellent surgeon with the skills beyond any that Owen had seen, but he had the heart and valor of an amazing human being. The moment George had told him about enlisting in the military to become an army doctor, a special bond between them had been formed, known only to the men and women who fought overseas, who knew what it was like to walk to Hell and back. Owen had gained as much respect for George O'Malley that day as he had for April Kepner the day she proved her trauma chops.

He wanted to take her under his wing, show her the ropes of trauma, and emphasize the importance of such a condoned field – a field he had fought for after the shooting that had killed eleven people and almost destroyed the woman he loved. She would do amazing in trauma, he was sure.

"Good morning, Dr. Hunt."

He smiled and nodded. "Looking for your name on the board?"

April turned back to the surgical board absentmindedly, as if ashamed to be caught scanning for her name. His question had flustered her slightly, he could tell, but she recovered quickly but shrugging with a still slightly nervous smile. "You caught me."

Owen nodded again in understanding. "It'll get easier, Dr. Kepner."

"What will?"

He pointed toward the board. "Finding surgeries to join and picking a specialty. I heard yesterday you were on Altman's service."

April nodded, the light in her eyes disappearing. "Yeah."

Owen frowned slightly, turning toward her. He crossed his arms and asked, "Cardio isn't your thing, Dr. Kepner?"

She shrugged, trying to show that it didn't matter one way or the other, but he wasn't convinced. "You know, I know I have to go through all the fields and find one that best fits me and…Well…Cardio is great and all and it's a respectable field – which surely you know – but it's just…"

"Kepner?" He interrupted her rambling and, seeing a startled look on her face, asked, "Cardio really isn't your thing, is it?"

"No," she admitted softly. "It's great, but it's not…I don't feel like I belong there."

"Understandable." He realized his mistake when her eyes perked up at him slightly, a little irritated and confused at his insinuation that cardiovascular surgery obviously wasn't the right option for her, for a reason unbeknownst to her. He found himself immediately back-tracking. "Oh, not because you wouldn't do well in cardio, because you would, it's just…Uh…I always sort of saw you more in trauma, then cardio."

She smiled softly, and the hint of frustration was gone. "Trauma?"

He nodded. "You did excellent during the trauma simulation months ago and from your work in the pit…You've been excellent under stressful situations." Surviving a shooting spree would do that to some people; he had learned a lot about stressful situations during his tours, and nothing scared him anymore when it came to trauma and surgeries. He could handle any situation thrown at him, and with time and some grooming April could do the same.

Her cheeks turned a soft, pink color at the compliment. "I was just doing my job, Dr. Hunt."

"It's a job you're good at," he praised, remembering Dr. Stark's recommendation for her as Chief Resident, which proved to him that any specialty would be fine for her. However, he saw a piece of himself in her – of what he used to be – and found himself pushing her toward a specialty he_ knew _she'd excel in. "If you'd be willing, I'd be happy to have you in the pit more. You know, get more trauma experience. It's better than going around all day filling out charts and post-ops and schedules."

April smiled. There was a time when scheduling was her safe haven away from the hustle and bustle of surgeries - that was after she had killed a patient on accident. April had found comfort in the known, the predictable. Surgeries, a time ago, were something she never dreamed of setting foot in. Now, she was torn between the sanctity and knowledge of charts or the risky, stressful actions that saved or killed lives. It was a thin line, and she was skating around both sides, unsure which side she wanted to completely travel on. His words, however, pushed her closer toward surgery. If he thought she could do it, then that was good enough for her to try.

"So would you be willing to work with me in the pit tomorrow then if you're free?"

"I'm actually already scheduled on your service," she chirped with a smile and a nod. "So…yeah!"

Owen returned her smile. "Good. All right. Well, have a good day, Kepner. I'll see you around."

"Have a good day, Dr. Hunt."

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><p><strong> AN: This fanfiction will be slowly updated, not like my other ones, so it'll take a little bit longer between chapters, but please bear with me! I want to make it as accurate and realistic as possible, and that'll take time.**


	2. Talk About Awkward

**A/N: This story pretty much is going to include every character besides Teddy and Henry (with April and Owen as the main characters, obviously). Pairings listed at the bottom.**

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><p>April casually strolled into the hospital the next morning at seven, wondering how she had ever chosen a field that required an eighty-hour workweek every week. What had she been thinking? Mornings like these she regretted ever leaving the farm back in Columbus, the safety of her second story pink bedroom and the delicious smell of her mother's home cooking. However, she quickly found herself enveloped in another delicious smell as Jackson walked up alongside her, carrying a coffee.<p>

April smiled at him. "Is that for me?"

"No way!" He shook his head and switched coffee in his hands so she couldn't grab it from him. He took a sip just to taunt her, laughing and jumping out of the way when she moved to him his arm. "Tired, April?"

"Shut up, Jackson," she sniped, frustrated by her lack of sleep. Yesterday she had lost a patient while working with Dr. Shepherd; the patient was a young boy who had a brain tumor and still hoped for the best even when he knew the worst was ahead. His hope had astounded her, and made her dream for a better tomorrow. He had died during surgery, and with the loss of his life, she felt the hope leave her soul. Last night she hadn't slept enough, crying herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Days like yesterday made her doubt her choice in career, too, even though she'd grow accustomed to losing patients. However, she refused to give in, forcing herself to think about all the lives she could save. She had to head into trauma today with that mindset; otherwise, she wouldn't come out sane on the other end.

April tried to push the harrowing thoughts away by nodding toward the scrubs he donned with a lab coat. "How long have you been here?"

Jackson shrugged. "About two hours. I have to go complete some rounds for Dr. Sloan, so…"

"Dr. Sloan? You're on plastics today?"

He nodded with a smile before he gently nudged her shoulder with his own. "I'm thinking about heading into plastics."

Her eyes opened wide in surprise as they walked down the hallway together until their paths would part because he actually had to work and she had to change. His comment surprised her, however, given Lexie and Mark's history. "Don't you…Don't you think that would be awkward?"

Jackson frowned. "No. Why would it be?"

"Well, Mark and Lexie—"

"Aren't anything anymore," he cut her off sharply, as if slightly intimidated by the fact that his girlfriend had a deep history with a man he'd soon work with on a daily basis. "So there's nothing to worry about."

April only nodded, wondering how Lexie would take hearing from Jackson on a daily basis how his day with Mark went. Jackson, however, wanted to live in this ignorant bliss where he didn't confront the possibility that maybe this could harm his relationship with Lexie, because you never forget your first, true love. Conversations with Lexie in the past had revealed to April that Lexie still harbored deep feelings for the elder surgeon, and apparently Jackson was the only one who couldn't see it. As his friend, she felt obligated to both say something and keep her mouth shut. Who was she to pull him out of his happiness?

"There's nothing to worry about!" Jackson repeated, more agitated.

"I didn't say there was!" April answered with a shake of her head and a frown as he walked away from her, rounding the corner. April brushed off the encounter quickly and snorted slightly at his closeted fears.

She had forgotten their conversation the moment she pushed the door open to the locker room. This early in the morning, there was pretty much no one in the locker room, everyone having started their shifts or working later in the day. She liked it this way - no one to get in her while she changed. The hustle and the bustle out there was enough to rattle anyone, so it was comforting when the locker room was quiet. April didn't have to jockey for position in here, which was nice because in moments she'd enter the deadly ring of competition out there. Anything to prolong that battle was good enough for April.

With a heavy sigh, she opened her locker slowly and pulled out her scrubs, setting them with gentle precision on the bench behind her. She welcomed these moments of slowness because it'd be the only time today she could take her time, her job a rushed blur half the time; there were times when she couldn't catch her breath, her mind a jumbled mess. Yes, these were moments on the job she savored and took delight in.

April removed her shirt slowly, carefully, taking her time with each button because she wasn't in any rush. Besides, the only one in here, she didn't feel the need to hurriedly change her clothes. There was no one to compare to – not that she would because she was comfortable in her own body – but sometimes it was hard to look, or even not to think that someone was staring at her. Sometimes she felt like the whole world was staring at her, watching her every movement carefully and judgmentally.

April tried to shake the thought away as she stripped out of her undershirt and threw that, and her shirt, into her locker. As she turned to grab the top of her scrubs, she stopped. The eerie feeling that she was being watched travelled down her spine and she frowned. She looked up slowly, her body straightening, and she stopped moving, her hands gently wrapped around the blue material.

"Hey." His slight frown made April realize the words had come out of her mouth, not his. His eyes were glued on her face, however, trying their damnedest not to travel any farther. April found herself so shocked to see him standing there that she didn't bring the shirt up to cover her chest. They had barely spoken since she finally put an end to his constant snide remarks. Of course, civility had won over and he'd started treating her better, but outside the realm of professionalism, they hadn't spoken.

April would have said something more if it didn't feel so odd calling him by his professional name in this setting, when she was half-naked.

He was trying his hardest, too, and was succeeding at not letting his eyes travel any further down. Stark simply stared at her, carefully, as if the sight had shocked him into paralysis, not wanting or able to move. However, his eyes betrayed him slightly as they flickered lower for just a second. The second fleeted past but the image of her slim frame, her breasts covered slightly by her bra, was forever imbedded in his memory.

Her mind shocked itself back into operation when he looked away from her swiftly; casually, she started to pull her scrub shirt on over her head, tugging so it covered her bare skin, and smoothed it out, returning his stare. Her throat had closed in dryness, but somehow her voice found an ability to communicate. "Good morning."

"Morning," he answered gruffly in reply.

"Are you just heading out?" It still was awkward, after months, and this situation certainly didn't help. The elephant in the room was richly present, and so was the way she caught him shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

"Yeah, I am. Shift just ended," he explained with a nod, gesturing toward the door behind him, thankful that no one had walked in when she was still half-naked. Attempting desperately to keep his voice even, he asked, "You?"

She smiled slightly. "Just starting."

Stark nodded slightly before he looked down at his shoes; anything to forget the image he had just seen because now he felt like one of those guys who stared at women like he had seen them naked. He had never been like that, never would be, but he was finding it so hard not to dream, especially when it had been so real the moment before. The small talk was excruciating. "Long day?"

She snorted gently. "When isn't it?"

Stark smiled gently at her comment before he looked up at her and only offered a slight nod. "Well…Have a good day, Dr. Kepner. I'll…I'll see you around."

"I'm on your service in three days."

Great, because he needed to see her after this encounter. Instead of letting his thoughts manifest in his expression, he responded, "Yeah. I'm going to be gone the next couple days."

"Why?"

"Conference out at John Hopkins. Dr. Robbins is filling in for me, so…" Stark shrugged. "I guess I'll see you in three days."

"Guess so." April watched him carefully as he turned around and walked way. Fidgeting slightly, unsure if she should just let him walk away without a word, she called out, "Have a good trip, Dr. Stark."

At the door, he turned, his lips curving in the small direction of a smile, as if he was trying to keep the expression from her. "Thank you, Dr. Kepner." Within a few seconds he was gone and the door had closed.

Talk about awkward.

April shook her head and began to strip out of her pants. Were she comfortable with the idea, April would have laughed at the thought of taking off her pants after being alone with Stark in the same room. Instead she continued to change, and like her interaction with Jackson, she tried to shake it off as time progressed. Because today she was in the pit, and she had to be on top of her game in there; she couldn't be concerned with an awkward situation with someone she used to date – she'd never get anything done if she couldn't push him out of her head.

She needed – her patients needed her – to focus, and she wouldn't settle for anything less than great because she was a doctor after all, and this was what she was good at. Even if she had problems in social situations or even quasi-relationships, April had this. Work was where she could flourish, her safe haven, and she loved it here. She was certain she'd never hate or leave this place, not when so many people needed her.

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><p><strong>AN: I've deciding my pairings are going to Owen/Cristina, Mark/Lexie (eventually), Meredith/Derek, Callie/Arizona, and April/Stark (also down the line). **


	3. You Aren't Scared, Are You?

**A/N: Just to clarify, the time period is in between 7x20 White Wedding and 7x21 I Will Survive, so Owen has yet to even conduct interviews for Chief Residency.**

"Ready Kepner?" Owen asked with a smile as he watched her suit up in a yellow gown beside him. She looked more alive this morning than when he saw her a few days ago, and that was good; she needed to be at the top of her game today. He needed the Energizer Bunny at his side because, no doubt, today would be an interesting and chaotic day in the pit. Owen smiled to himself again. She'd be able to prove her worth yet again, and reinforce in his mind that she would make an excellent trauma surgeon – perhaps even Chief Resident once he started the formal interview process.

She smiled, her head bobbing up quickly. "Ready!" She breathed in, grabbing a chart, and nodded with a bright smile as if she had gone from a moment of deflation to regaining her energy, as if she needed affirmation from others for something that was so natural to her.

"That's good," he praised, returning her smile. "It's going to be a long day."

"I'm ready," she answered with a nod.

"Wasn't Lexie supposed to be on my service mainly today?" Owen inquired as they walked to the pit. He was glad to see Kepner here, because he felt closer with her, but he was curious. It wasn't like Lexie Grey to ditch out on required rotations.

"Yes, sir," April answered. "But she called in sick with the flu."

Owen nodded in understanding. "Ah, I see. Don't want to get any more patients sick."

"Yes, sir."

Her perkiness never bothered him. She would need that optimism to carry her through this profession – whatever specialty she chose – but he feared it would be the death of her. It scared him to think that this job could kill what made her April Kepner. Owen had adjusted over the years to this job; it had turned him into a hardened, yet compassionate surgeon, and he hoped to steer her down the path of perky and hardnosed because if she didn't build up a wall soon, the stress and horror of losing patients would attack her. All he wanted to do was help her and not see her make the same mistakes that had killed so many surgical careers.

"Are you doing all right, Kepner?"

April looked up absentmindedly. "Yes, sir. Why?"

"You seem a little flustered," Owen answered, emphasizing with a hand wave. "Something happen?"

She remembered that morning, how Stark had tried to walk out of there as quickly as possible without making it seemed like he wanted to leave. The awkward twist in her stomach returned at the thought. April shook the memory off and smiled. "Nothing's wrong, Dr. Hunt. Just had a weird morning, you know. Not like normal."

Owen snorted and pushed open the door for her toward the pit. "Don't we all have those."

April followed behind him, ready for action, and found herself facing the normalcy of the scene head on. She loved this sense of peace that accompanied with only a few patients in the emergency room. It would be disrupted, soon, as the ambulances would speed up and bring in patients who required care. As sad as their injuries were, sometimes, she relished the work. The ability of helping others…she thrived off it.

She helped shoulder the door open for Owen and a couple other interns as they stepped into the rainy afternoon. The cold air hit her, sending chills down her spine; April shook it off as she rubbed her arms. She knew she wouldn't have to wait long. Not disappointed, the ambulance sped up moments later. Paramedics moved quickly, mechanically, and pulled a woman from the stretcher, pregnant and covered in blood from a head trauma.

April felt her heart break a little bit. This was going to be a hard day.

Hours had passed into the night and April's feet began to ache as she trampled back to the locker room to change. The day in the pit with Owen had been excruciating, but she had made it, thankfully. Unfortunately, she had lost a patient who had come in with severe wounds. Internal bleeding had taken the life of a father and husband, and it had taken her a few moments to move on from the loss. It wasn't until Owen put his hand on his shoulder and gave her an encouraging nod that she moved from her paralyzed state, onto the next patient who she could save.

From there she had worked on children with colds, adults vomiting blood, more sutures than she could count, and even a little boy who had broken his arm after a football accident. She had seen it all, she decided after she had changed back into her street clothes. Tomorrow April would have to go through the same motions again, so to spare herself energy, she robotically made her way toward her car.

Because of a recent seminar, the parking lot in the hospital was filled with cars that April didn't recognize, doctors she'd never know because they were too prestigious to deal with a measly fourth year resident. That hadn't bothered her; it actually had proved interesting watching respectable Seattle Grace attending surgeons grovel and vie for the attention of other professionals. Oddly enough, she was thankful to see that actions they engaged in during internship followed them throughout their careers. It was nice to know that even though they grew in their field, everyone still was the same. There was no difference in the attending surgeons and residents besides surgical skill. April had found an odd comfort in that.

Sighing heavily, April finished buttoning up her pea coat, which was enough to keep her warm in the chilly, fall weather. She couldn't wait until snow hit so on her off days she could head to the slopes and ski – awkwardly, she'd admit – down the bunny slope. The mere thought of other experienced skiers flying past her down the tougher slopes made her smile; she wasn't in any hurry, and didn't need to reach that level of achievement just yet. It was a great achievement that she could even manage her way down the beginners course without falling too many times.

The winter couldn't come any sooner, she decided, as she fiddled with her keys and approached her parked car on the side street. Sliding the key into the locked door, she began to twist slightly, but stopped. An eerie feeling washed over her body, halting her movements. Though every nerve in her told her to keep moving, twist the lock, and get into her car without a second thought, April found herself looking back.

Walking toward her was a familiar face. Though she smiled gently in the dark, her grip tightened on her car keys, and she didn't move from the door. Instead, she slowly twisted the lock and opened her car door, in case she needed to make a quick break for it. Just because she recognized the man walking toward her didn't mean she wasn't in possible danger, she knew.

For any other doctor, the man walking toward her would have been another batch of sutures that didn't mean anything compared to an impending surgery; the patient would long be forgotten. Though April had forgotten his name, she remembered his face, and the sutures she had made on a jagged gash above his eye. April remembered the way he had described a brawl in a bar that had resulted in the impending wounds that had forced their paths to cross.

He offered a slight smile as he approached her slowly, still a few steps away. "Dr. Kepner?"

April didn't say anything, remembering a professor teach his students to neither confirm or deny when asked about their name in a situation like this. Instead, she fixed the best scowl she could – which wasn't much considering she wasn't a bitter person – and asked, "Who are you?"

He laughed. "You don't remember me, then?" He only shrugged. "Well, that's all right."

April didn't have to force a scowl as she frowned. This was getting strange. The smile on his face seriously bothered her, and she wasn't in the mood to deal with someone – who looked a little unstable, she realized, as she took in his bloodshot eyes – this late at night. April shook her head slightly. "You know, I really don't mean to cut you short, but I have to go. It's…I have a busy day tomorrow."

"You don't sound so sure about that," he commented softly. He had flustered her, he could tell, and offered a friendly smile. "But I'm scaring you, aren't I?"

"No." Her voice had betrayed her, and she knew he could see that, too. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling so comfortable. The need to flee filled her chest so swiftly that she latched into the door handle to keep steady. Why weren't her legs moving and getting into the car? Was she so paralyzed with fear and surprise that her brain refused to send messages to the rest of her body? She could feel her head screaming to move, to get in the car, and really never look back.

"Did you have a good day?" He asked, his voice kind.

"It was fine."

_Come on, April!_

The man nodded. What the hell was his name and why couldn't she remember? Had she not been paying attention close enough? That was a pitfall she never wanted to fall into with patients. It seemed today her mind had betrayed her twice. "That's good."

"Yeah," she agreed softly.

He smiled again.

_Get in the damn car, April!_

"You aren't scared, are you?"

April felt her blood run cold as her mind finally kicked into gear. Ignoring his question, she answered, "Well, I really should get going. Have a good night." Quickly, as fast as her small body would move her, she turned and tightly held onto the inside car handle as she maneuvered her way into the small car.

She panicked as arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her back out of the car. April thrashed against him, trying to pull his arms away from her neck. Desperately, screaming out, she tried to break free of his grasp. She wasn't aware she could scream like that. Her agonized, horrified cries and flailing limbs intensified the strength he used to crush her throat, the chokehold sending her into a black out.


	4. She Comes First

"_9-1-1. What's your emergency?"_

"_I…I found this…this woman. My wife and I…"_

"_Sir, I need you to calm down and take a few breaths."_

"_Oh-kay." _

"_What happened, sir? You said you found a woman?"_

"_Y-Yes. She's on the ground and she's…I don't think she's breathing. I…I don't know…My wife says she has a pulse. She…She's all beaten up. There's blood everywhere. Everywhere. I've…I've never seen so much blood."_

"_Sir, what's your location?"_

"_We're in an alleyway off of Mercer Avenue, a couple…a couple blocks from the hospital. We found in the alleyway in between Marco's Bistro and Summer View Cupcakes…the little cupcake shop at the corner of Mercer and Hill. I…You have to help her!"_

"_Sir, help is on the way. I need you to stay on the line and describe your surroundings so the ambulance and police and get to you, all right?"_

"_All-All right."_

Owen was just finishing up his trauma shift that night, in the process of closing a chart he had recently completed, when one of the interns had notified him of an incoming ambulance. Exhausted, he considered throwing the incoming patient off to the next batch of doctors who were led by Miranda Bailey, but that had never been his style. He still had a job to do, a patient who needed his help, and no matter how much his feet hurt or his head needed to hit a pillow, he would see to this patient. It was his duty, and far be it from him to run away from his obligations.

Closing the finished chart quickly, he turned to Dr. Bailey who was standing behind him. "You want to take this one with me?"

"You're not capable of handling it yourself, Dr. Hunt?"

He frowned slightly at her question, speaking to him like he was a first year resident. Instead of biting back, he told her, "You could either handle this with me or oversee the residents and their interns, Dr. Bailey. Your choice."

Her head perked up. She thought for a moment before nodding. "All right. Let's go."

They both turned from the station and moved toward the doors that led outside. Owen shoved them open for them both as an ambulance sped up. He wasn't surprised by the lightning fast speed of the paramedics as they opened the back doors and began to pull out a stretcher. He was surprised slightly to see a man, flustered, in the back of the ambulance as the two paramedics pulled a woman out. "Sir, is this your wife?"

He looked up quickly, clearly in shock. "I…No. We found her in an alleyway."

Owen exchanged glances with Bailey, both understanding that wasn't a good scenario. He turned his attention away from the man and focused on the woman on the stretcher as they made their way back into the pit. It wasn't until they were halfway inside did he realize Bailey hadn't followed them in. When Owen turned around, he frowned. Bailey stood glued to her spot, a look of horror on her face. "Dr. Bailey, what's the matter?"

"That's…" Her voice shook. "That's Kepner."

Owen looked down. Though her face was caked over in blood, a likely broken nose, and bruises, he could see through her bloodied clothes, auburn hair, and the watch on her wrist that the woman before him was April Kepner. Panic hit him, and an overwhelming sense of anger to realize that something like this happened to someone he knew. Thankful for his years in the army, the stressful situation did not stop him from completing his job. He helped the paramedics get her into a private room while listening to their information.

It wasn't until the paramedics had left that Bailey finally found her way into the room. Gently, she shut the door behind her and watched Owen check her vitals. "Is she…?"

"She's alive," Owen told her with a nod, pulling the stethoscope off. "She has a pulse."

Bailey nodded. "I…I'm sorry, Dr. Hunt. I…"

"Dr. Bailey," he interrupted gently, looking up from April and inspecting Bailey's shocked face, "It's all right. Let's just…let's just focus on making sure she's all right."

"Right." Bailey shook her head, attempting to shake away the flustered emotions raging through her. "Of course."

Before either of them could return to helping her, a scream filled the room as April awakened and seized away from them. Out of reflex, Owen reached for her but stopped when she cried out again, tightly hugging herself as she rolled into a ball on the gurney. Owen looked up at Bailey, whose eyes echoed the same response. What the hell had happened to her? Something so horrific that he was certain she wouldn't rebound quickly, if at all. "April, April…It's us. Dr. Bailey and Dr. Hunt. We're…You're in the hospital."

Her eyes – one of which he was sure she couldn't see from, it was so bruised and swollen - frantically moved from Owen to Bailey and back to the gingered trauma doctor. Violently, she shook her head.

"April," Bailey gently whispered, "I need to check your vitals to make sure you don't have a concussion. Okay? We…We need to check you out so you can talk to the police about what happened."

April turned slowly to Owen, and through the blood, tears, and swelling he could see fear. "Can you…Can you leave?"

Owen frowned, turning to Bailey who shot him a dark glare. Without a word, he offered her a nod, removed his stethoscope, and walked out of the room. Before he left, however, he turned back to look at her one last time. The hope was gone from her eyes. Whoever had attacked her hadn't simply beaten her down; he had destroyed her soul. April wouldn't be the same, not after this horrible trauma. Gently, with a shaking hand from rage and shock, Owen closed the door.

Bailey breathed in for strength as she flattened out the sheet carefully so April could lie back on the cot. "Okay, April, now I'm just going to…" She stopped when April reached out to grab her hand. Bailey looked up slowly, April's shaking hand sending a shiver down her spine. "What is it, April?"

April's hand continued to violently shake. Her mouth twisted, as if she was trying to form words but was unable to speak. Finally, she sputtered, "You…You need to-to do a..."

"A what, April?"

April looked away, her split limb trembling. "Ah…I…I didn't get my underwear back."

Ignoring the pain in her chest that she was sure was her breaking heart, Bailey gently covered April's bleeding hand in hers – the one that wasn't broken and clutched Bailey's hand like she'd never find stability again. Somehow Bailey's voice didn't betray her and echoed the strength that April needed. "We'll take care of you, April. I promise. We…We'll catch the monster that did this to you, I promise."

"Dr. Bailey?"

"Yeah?" Her voice cracked slightly and she shook it off. This woman didn't need to see her lose her composure, not when she needed all the unwavering support she could find.

"Can…Can someone be in here with me when you do the…you know?"

"Of course. You can have someone with you throughout the entire examination and interview process, April. Anyone you'd like."

She frowned. "Interview?"

"To report this to the police," Bailey offered, returning April's frown with her own when the shattered young woman looked away. "April, you have to report this to the police so they can find who did this to you. April…"

"I know!"

Bailey kept her stance firm as April pulled her hand away quickly and doubled over, as if her entire body and soul hurt from the thought of remembering what had happened…from admitting it to others. April had tried so hard to rigidly control her behavior, Bailey knew, but this outburst didn't surprise her. Neither did the tears that accompanied shaking hands and tormented cries. Taking her hand again, Bailey reassured, "I will be here every step of the way, April. Do you understand me? Every step."

April only nodded.

"April?"

No answer, not even a head movement to acknowledge she was listening, perhaps in some far away land.

"Look at me."

April looked up slowly, silent. The eye she could see out of went large, as if the weight of this moment finally hit her and she was trying her hardest not to cry. "Yeah?"

"This is _not _your fault," Bailey told her firmly. "You did _nothing _wrong and have done nothing to deserve this."

"That's not what he said," April murmured quietly.

"Kepner, look at me." She clutched April's hand tighter, a gentle squeeze to emphasize support. "You are not at fault here. What he did…He's the sick one, not you. He…He's the monster."

"Okay."

Bailey knew April didn't believe her.

Moments of silence passed before April asked, "Can I change into a gown, Dr. Bailey?"

"Would you be more comfortable that way?"

April looked down at her bloody clothes and nodded. "We should…catalog the, uh, the evidence."

"All right. I'll…I'll let you change and I'll bring in some bags so a nurse can put the clothes in there. I will be right back." Though Bailey had meant the words to soothe, April stopped suddenly, as if the phrase haunted her, as if she had heard it before tonight. Thinking carefully, Bailey backtracked. "I'll come back when you want me to, April."

"Thank you."

"April?"

"Yeah?"

"Who do you want me to call to come and stay here with you throughout…?"

April shrugged. "I don't care. Someone who can…Someone who can handle this, I suppose."

Bailey nodded even though April was staring down on at her hands, one of which was broken and the other covered in blood. Unable to stare at the horrifying sight for very long, Bailey shut the door gently behind her and moved as fast as her short legs would carry her until she was back at the nurse's station. It wasn't until she reached the stability of the counter and Owen's presence beside her that she addressed the nurse, who looked perplexed. "We need to get the police in here, Mary. And uh…page Dr. Torres."

"She isn't working today," the nurse answered. "Do you still want me to page her?"

"Yes. When she calls, tell-tell that I need her and it's a 9-1-1. Make sure she knows that Dr. Robbins, the baby, and Dr. Sloan are all right before she comes over, though."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Oh, and Mary?" Bailey asked quietly, stopping the nurse before she could turn to the phone. "Page Dr. Wyatt, too."

"Yes, ma'am."

Owen, who had been impatiently waiting while Bailey delivered instructions, crossed his arms when Bailey turned to him. He was about to berate her – or perhaps question what happened in there that he wasn't allowed to know – but his interrogation was halted when he saw the look in her eyes, a look so sad that he was certain she'd crumble beneath any vocal pressure. Because of that, he lowered his voice and asked gently, "Dr. Bailey, what-what happened?"

His mouth dropped open in surprise when she broke down before him, crying softly and leaning on her knees for support as her emotions overtook her. Before he could ask her what was wrong, again, or comfort her in any way, she straightened and furiously wiped her tears. This raw display of emotion was unlike anything he had ever seen from her, and it stunned him. "Miranda, what the hell happened in there?"

Bailey sniffled slightly, breathing in for courage because she couldn't break down in front of April. "Kepner wasn't just physically assaulted, Dr. Hunt."

He frowned, confused. "What are you talking—?"

His break in speech forced her to nod. "We're keeping this under wraps for now, Dr. Hunt. No one finds out."

Owen nodded slowly, as if the news had sent him into shock. "Yea…Yeah. What…What, um, what do you need from me?"

"Well first you can wipe that look of pity off your face," Bailey snapped. "Because if you go in there with that _look _on your face, you'll only make things worse. If you look at her like that…It'll destroy her. Understand?"

Owen nodded blankly again. "What else?"

"Tell the Chief. He'll like to know."

"What about…What about Dr. Shepherd and…Dr. Sloan. Should we get them in here, too?"

"No. You and I can handle sending her up for an MRI and X-rays. We'll worry about Shepherd and Sloan later. Right now, we need to worry about April. We…she comes first."

"Yes," he agreed firmly, anger shooting through his body as he processed the information, "she does."


	5. Three Little Words

"Bailey, what happened?" Callie asked as she walked into the pit, expecting to see a patient who needed both his legs put back together. When she saw a flustered woman, who knelt over a chart with fixed eyes, she frowned slightly. "Dr. Bailey?"

She looked up finally, her gaze fleeting across the rest of the pit before she finally settled on Callie. "This is on the down low, Torres."

Callie nodded. "Of course. What's up?" She felt the need to lean in when Bailey ushered her with a nod. Still frowning and confused, Callie asked, "Bailey, seriously, what's the matter?"

"It's April."

"Kepner? What's wrong with her?"

Shaking her head, not wanting to explain the ordeal in front of people, Bailey grabbed Callie's arm and pulled her down the hallway, into the quiet little room in a far off corner no one could find unless they went looking. As soon as she opened the door, Callie – whose hand had grabbed Bailey's in an attempt to pry her away – fell limp at her side. Mouth dropping open slightly, Callie experienced an almost out of body sensation as she stopped into the room. Before her sat a woman who – normally perky – had been transformed into a quiet, feeble creature that seemed to panic at the sight of someone new. April's eyes grew large before she realized Callie stood before her; upon softening, Callie took advantage and moved beside quickly her. "April, what happened?"

April's gaze shot from Callie to Bailey quickly. "You didn't tell her?"

Bailey only shook her head as she walked to the other side of the bed. "I didn't. Not out there."

April only nodded before she turned back to Callie, who looked amazed and slightly pained at the sight. "How do you think I feel?"

The question – and Bailey's cold stare – forced Callie's mouth shut. "Oh, April…What-What happened?"

Bailey's eyes followed April's as she looked down at her hands, one of which Bailey had grabbed gently so she could perform a swab. As she completed the action under April's watchful and jumpy eye, Bailey answered, "Dr. Torres, April was assaulted and you're here to help her through the interview process with myself and the police."

Callie nodded, immediately accepting the task though she felt her heart break at the sight of the broken woman before her, who was so full of life before now and now…Callie only saw the bruises and broken bones. Attempting to push the thought away – because she was certain the last thing April wanted was to be considered a victim – Callie responded, "I'll be here for whatever you need."

"Good. Now, go get the police officer who is waiting outside. If it's all right with you, April, we'll do the interview now."

"That's-That's fine."

Bailey looked up when she heard a stammer of uncertainty. Feeling the need to reiterate, because April needed some sense of normalcy and control, Bailey questioned, "Are you sure that's all right, April?"

April nodded slowly before swiftly retracting her hand after Bailey was done swabbing for evidence underneath her fingertips and collecting samples, as if the feel of something foreign on her hands was more traumatizing than answering these questions. Any foreign, unwelcome touch sent her body into shock, so deep that she couldn't bear to look at the women around her; instead, she numbly stared at her hands, once of which burned from the gashes and broken fingers, fingers that shook at the memories.

April looked up numbly when the door opened, and stared as two officers entered the room.

Bailey watched carefully as April refused to look up from her hands. Frowning, she looked up at the officers, then back to the woman she so desperately tried to help. Gently, Bailey rested her hand on April's shoulder. "April?"

"Yeah?"

"You…You don't have to do this right now if you're not ready, you know that, right?"

"You are going to have to talk to us, though," Callie chimed in, "but you don't have to report it right now if you don't want to. You…That can wait until you're calm." Which, Callie knew, wouldn't be for a while. Bailey had yet to complete the pelvic exam, which would prove more traumatizing than any other test performed, an action eliciting dark memories no woman should ever have endured in the first place.

Finally, the normally timid, but now shaky, auburn haired surgeon looked up after a few moments, stared at the police officers, and rested her sight on Callie. Tightly, Callie squeezed her hand, nodding encouragingly though she could never understand, hoping April understood she had her undying support and care. Because even though she didn't have much interaction with April Kepner until now, this moment, the moment her hand wrapped around the shaking hand covered in dried blood…

Callie knew this would bond them for life. She'd forever be the woman April had turned to in her darkest moment of need, and though she never had known how to deal with a crying, upset _anyone_, Callie knew she could do this. Because this wasn't about her. This wasn't about her comfort level, and she understood, too, why Bailey had called her. Callie was the only one Bailey trusted to step up when called to action because she'd be levelheaded. She wouldn't look at April and consider her own pain. She wouldn't run away. She'd stay here and fight, because she could be April's gladiator in battle if April didn't feel up to the challenge.

"I've got your back, Kepner."

Callie realized she had spoken the words aloud, a whisper, when April's eyes opened wide in surprise before they shimmered. Her emotions shifted quickly as her lip began to quiver and she vigorously shook her head. Understanding, Callie turned to the police officers and told them calmly, "Not right now, guys."

"But we have to—"

"She said not right now," Bailey barked quickly, her head twisting in a swift, firm snap as she shot them a glare. The action and harsh tone was enough to send them cowering away.

Callie bit her smile back. The Nazi was back, and for April Kepner no less. Nodding, Callie squeezed April's hand. "Okay, April. We're going to have to…" Bailey's hard look stopped her so she corrected herself. "What-What do you want to do next?"

"We should do the…the…_exam_."

"Are you sure, April?" Bailey asked calmly, surprised at her own internal control. It took all her strength to keep her voice even.

"Better to get it over with." April looked from Bailey to Callie. "Right?" Callie looked away from her, and Bailey didn't answer. April nodded slowly and added, a murmur, "Right."

"We need to get you stitched up and taken care of first here and with…with the evidence," Bailey told her after a moment. "And then we'll worry about that, okay?"

"Sure."

"April?"

"Yeah?" She asked blankly and looked up, expectantly.

"What did he do to you, April?"

Her entire body shook in a tortured moan that rocked Bailey so hard she felt her breath catch in her own stifled cry. "He raped me." Those three little words meant more than anything she'd ever say, hurt more than everything she'd ever felt.

It was followed by hopeless, incredulous, and wounded laughter. The odd outburst subsided moments later, overshadowed by violently painful tears, which left scars on her heart and soul, scars she feared would never heal.

**A/N: Not as emotionally driven still, I know, but I'm gearing to set it up kind of like how it was done with PP where you didn't actually get to see/know the attack until the very end of the episode. I'm going to try to write flashbacks as best I can as the chapters progress, but I will eventually detail the attack. I just haven't decided if I'm going to reserve one chapter for a flashback or give bit by bit as April is hit with things that remind her of what happened. **

**Your support is greatly appreciated! **


	6. Nothing is All Right

**A/N: First off, sorry for the wait. Mid-terms/studying was taking up all my time. **

**Secondly, I want to punch Alex Karev in the face for how he's treating April. It makes me mad that they're leaning toward a relationship between the two, and it's not because I'm an April/Stark shipper. They shouldn't get together when he treats her like crap.**

**Finally, it irritates me what they're doing to April. She shouldn't have sex just to have sex. It has to mean something – especially for her – and a one-stand won't do that.**

* * *

><p>"April…"<p>

Her head jerked up as she elbowed her way into the door, Callie not far behind her. She stared, silent, her jaw clenched as Lexie stood at the landing of the stairs, her mouth open in shock. Without a word, she shuffled into the empty foyer, watching Callie tentatively as she, too, entered.

Callie looked from April's sad, tired eyes toward Lexie, who was shocked into paralysis. She turned to the woman beside her, hunched over, cradling her wounded hand that covered her chest as if shielding her heart from more damage. "April, you need help getting upstairs?"

She only shook her head.

Callie bit the side of her check gently, disbelieving. The tortured, scared look still present in April's eyes expressed no confidence, but a sure promise that she wouldn't be sleeping tonight, anyway. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight, April?"

Shrugging, she turned to Lexie. "If you want."

Callie nodded. "I'll sleep on the floor." She turned to Lexie. "Can you grab me a pillow and blanket, please?"

Lexie didn't move, instead staring at April still, at eyes that immediately looked away.

Callie frowned as she repeated, "Lexie, a blanket and pillow. Please."

"April…" came the soft, saddened answer, as if Lexie was trapped in time, unable to move but unsure how to help.

Stepping forward, Callie's tone lowered as she said, "Go get me a blanket and pillow, Lexie. _Now_." She glared until Lexie scurried out the room, her eyes still wide in surprise and worry. Shaking her head, Callie turned back toward April and protectively placed an arm on her shoulder. April stared at the limb numbly before her eyes met Callie's. "What do you want April?"

"Can I shower?"

Callie didn't feel the need to remind her that she had already showered back at the hospital after the rape kit…after she had detailed what happened to Bailey and herself. Callie couldn't get that image out of her head, the way April had blindly walked into the shower stall, carefully shedding her gown as warm water cascaded down her garishly bruised back. The shower was quick, not lasting very long since she couldn't get her hand wet. Callie hadn't been surprised by April's desire to attempt to wash the memoires away. What had surprised her, however, was that April had not broken down during the cleansing process. She had simply let the water wash over her, body stiff, until she was forced to shut it off. Then, mechanically, she had dressed, and Callie had escorted her out of the hospital.

Now they were here, in a place where April was supposed to feel safe. It wasn't that place anymore. Her bed wasn't her safe haven anymore; she had admitted that when she said she didn't want to go home but lay in the wet, cold grass. Callie didn't blame her, either. After hearing April's horrific tale, she didn't want to step foot near a bed either. Sighing gently, Callie turned as Lexie jogged back into the room with a sleeping bag and blanket. "Thanks."

Lexie remained unable to keep her eyes off her friend, stunned from anger, sadness, and confusion to see April's already fragile personality completely shattered from a brutal attack that wounded her to her core. "April, what—"

Cutting her off quickly because she registered the wide opening of April's eyes as tears starting to form, Callie asked, "Do you want to head up to the shower now? I'll wait for you down here if you want."

April only nodded. "Um…I need help putting a bag over my hand."

"All right," Callie responded soothingly. "We can handle that up there." She smiled gently in reassurance as April blankly walked up the stairs to the bathroom, her hand clutching the railing like she would slip and fall down forever until her body hit solid concrete. Watching her carefully, Callie waited until she had shut the bathroom door behind her before she turned to Lexie.

The young woman couldn't take her eyes off the bathroom door, so Callie snapped her out by roughly jerking her shoulder. Lexie's eyes travelled to her, stunned. "What-What happened?"

"She was physically and sexually assaulted," Callie answered, her words filled with pain. "And do your best not to stare. She had enough of that leaving the hospital."

"She was…._what_?"

Callie sighed heavily. "Look, Lexie, I need to go up there and make sure she gets in and out all right, okay? When she's in the shower I'll come down and tell you what happened. Just…Knock that damn look of pity off your face. She doesn't need to see that. Not from you." Without a word, Callie made her way up the stairs. She knocked gently on the bathroom door, waiting for April's approval of entry, before she walked in.

Though she had seen the bruises just hours before, Callie still felt her heart stop at the sight, at the multiple parts of her body that were tinted a dark purple from a savage attack which left her physically and emotionally torn. The bruises came alive, devilish, because Callie could place in her mind an action that had caused such brutal scarring. April indirectly had detailed what happened to her after Bailey's gentle line of questioning of where he hurt her and how. Every bruise formed at the hands of a monster; given the chance, Callie would make sure he died a slow, painful death. She would make him suffer and beg for mercy, just as April had.

Delicately, Callie slipped the grocery bag over April's broken hand, gently holding it down with tape to ensure no water could travel in. "April, are you okay?"

April's eyes were fixed on the mirror, at her own broken reflection.

"April?"

She met Callie's eyes. "Yeah?"

"Do you want me to wait in here until you're done or are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she answered quietly, turning her head away from the mirror. Shrugging, she moved toward the shower and gently opened the sliding door. "I'm…I'll be okay."

"April?"

She turned her head slightly to look at Callie over her shoulder.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Callie told her firmly. "This is not your fault, okay? You have _nothing _to be ashamed of."

"Sure."

Callie could only watch her slip into the shower, sliding the door carefully behind her. Callie stood there for a few moments, watching through the blur as April wet her hair with her one good hand. Deciding to give her much needed privacy, Callie opened the door gently and, as she left, heard a broken, whimpered cry that made her blood run cold.

Callie was downstairs in the kitchen only moments later where Lexie sat at the island, furiously stirring a mug of coffee. The clanking was rough, reflecting the anxiety in her heart, and instantly stopped as Callie leaned against the island. With a sigh of exhaustion, she rubbed her eyes and looked up to meet Lexie's worried gaze. "What do you want to know?"

"What happened to her, Callie?" came the soft, disbelieving question.

"Do you really want to know?"

Lexie paused for a moment, contemplating the scenario, before she nodded. "Yes."

"She was raped," Callie told her. "And beaten. And…And she's going to need us right now, okay? She's going to need everyone tor rally around her. And what she doesn't need is that look of pity. So you get it out now, Lexie. Because if I see you look at her like when she's down here, I swear to God it'll be the last thing you do."

"Callie, I—"

"You're allowed your surprise and anger and emotions, okay? I get that. But she needs you to step up and be her best friend. So you get your emotions out _now_ or when she's not around. Because if she sees you like this…" Callie shook her head. "It'll destroy her even more. And if you hurt her, well…"

"I got it," Lexie answered softly. "I got it."

Callie nodded. "Good. And you tell Jackson and Alex to do the same. _Especially _Karev. Because I will kick his ass and we all know I can do it."

* * *

><p>Arizona was chopping up an apple when her wife came through the door. She looked haggard, more exhausted than any grueling surgery, which surprised her slightly considering it was the afternoon. Smiling brightly, Arizona asked, "Emergency surgery?"<p>

When Callie simply threw her keys down in a bowl and traipsed toward her, Arizona looked up, worried. Her movements, stiff, indicated that something was seriously wrong. "Hey, what happened at the hospital?" The knife dropped from her hands, clanking against the counter as Callie leaned against the island, cradling her head in her hands. Immediately, Arizona rounded the corner, gently wrapping her arms around her wife's waist. Feeling Callie shake against her from a pained sob sent her concern over the edge. "Calliope, what happened?"

Callie clutched Arizona's hands tightly, clinging to her anchor like she'd collapse if she let go. She forced herself to breathe in, to end the tears, as she told her wife, "April Kepner was raped this morning."

"What?" Arizona's hands immediately fell. Her eyes were wide in shock as Callie turned around and slumped against the cool granite. "She was…what?"

Callie nodded, furiously wiping her tears away. "She was walking back to her car after the shift last night and a man…He came up behind her and knocked her unconscious. And when…" A hitched breath stopped her from continuing.

Gently, Arizona reached up to wipe the tears away. Her wife was a strong woman, her resolve built tougher than anyone else she knew and for her to cry…It hurt Arizona more than if the tears were her own. "Hey…Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

"No it's not!" Callie yelled, slamming her hands down against the counter. "It's not all right that when she woke up, she was tied down to a bed! Th-That some sick fuck raped her and then beat her so hard she passed out! And it is _not _all right that she can't sleep at night…that she woke up screaming because she can't bear the thought of closing her eyes and remembering the way he..." Callie frantically ran her fingers through her hair at the memory of the sound April had made, the sound that told Callie she was being ripped apart. "_It's not all right!_"

Arizona wasn't sure what she could do for her wife except to hold her tightly when her sobs overcame her, sending her to the floor. She simply held her, and hoped that was enough.


	7. We Aren't Done

**A/N: I feel I should mention that this chapter is a little more graphic than the others, just a forewarning.**

* * *

><p>By the time Cristina wandered into the firehouse, she had worked on a mitral valve repair with Teddy, and then a right frontal craniotomy with Shepherd. As she figured, both surgeries had gone successfully. Though the right frontal craniotomy had went well, Cristina was happier with <em>finally <em>getting to operate on a heart. So excited, in fact, that she couldn't sleep and wanted to celebrate the success with her husband. She knew he'd receive the proposition wonderfully; he always did.

When she walked into their bedroom, open to the rest of the house, she was surprised to see Owen sitting in bed, leaning against the wall. Frowning slightly – as close to frowning as she'd get right now considering her high – Cristina threw her keys on the table and walked toward the edge of the bed. He hadn't noticed her presence, instead staring down at the uniform he cradled in his hands. "Owen?"

His hands tightened around the cargo fabric tightly, clutching it as he looed up at her. "Yeah?"

Cristina crossed her arms. "You think I'm going to take that from you?" She carefully unwrapped her scarf while his grip tightened around the fabric and he kept it close to his chest. "Are you…having flashbacks?"

"No." That was a lie, really. He was having flashbacks holding his uniform, but not flashbacks that could cause him to hurt her or others. They would take his soul down before anyone else had a chance to offer a helping hand. Shrugging, he threw the uniform on the bed beside him, crossed his arms, and stared at his wife. "Long day at work?"

His inability to read the smile on her face told Cristina he was definitely on some other planet, a world she feared he wouldn't come back from. Though he had come back from the memories many times before, she could see it in his eyes. This memory was haunting him, so painful that he couldn't see past it. He couldn't see her pride and happiness; he was that deep in the past. "Owen?"

"What?" he asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Where are you?"

Owen shook his head as she crawled toward him. He gazed up at the ceiling, not looking down until she straddled his lap. Arms crossed, he answered, "I'm fine Cristina, really."

"You sure?"

He nodded, his body tense. He felt trapped here, and could see what she wanted just by the look in her eyes. "I'm positive."

Cristina didn't believe him, but decided to push past it. "Do you want to hear how my day went?"

Owen thought about April, how her day was going after going home, and frowned. "Sure."

Cristina mirrored his dark expression. "You don't want to know?"

"I just said I did," he told her, his agitation growing slightly. "So why don't you tell me about your day?"

His frustration, tone, and entire mood suddenly made her wish she hadn't asked what was wrong or where his mind was. The mood and her desire automatically were dampened, so much so that she would have pulled away if she didn't want to increase the tension. Cristina surged forward, putting her hands on his chest as she said, "Well I successfully performed a right frontal craniotomy _and _a mitral valve repair today."

"That's nice."

Her happy smile was immediately replaced with a dark frown. She had enough of this, of his detachment, and crawled off him. Shaking her head, she walked toward the bathroom, slightly aware that he was slowly following behind her.

"Cristina."

She shook her head, ignoring his plea as she began to strip, turning on the shower. Finally, with a deep breath, she told him, "Look, I came home after having a great day and all I wanted to do was share that with you. And you don't even care."

"I do, too," he argued, though he wasn't entirely convinced himself.

Cristina scoffed. "Look, I don't know where you're at or what put you there, but I need to shower and clean up before I go to bed. So you can join me if you want. I don't really care."

Owen watched her carefully as she climbed into the shower. Moments later, he pushed himself off the door frame, turned around, and shut the door behind him as he walked back toward the bed. Sitting down, he grabbed the uniform again, going back to Iraq as he stared down at the fabric, remembering the day when everything changed.

As a combat medic, his job hadn't been simple. Running out to the battlefield to help injured soldiers in heavy fire was definitely a high stakes and high-risk job. Owen had known that when he enlisted after receiving beginning medical training. However, the desire to serve his country and save the men who fought for their freedoms was enough to dispel any uneasiness or fear about combat. After all, he wouldn't be the man firing the weapons. He'd just be the guy saving him. In time, he knew he'd get used to the heavy whirl of helicopter blades and deafening shots of bullets firing.

Somehow, he had. Owen remembered the moment he transformed from a normal civilian to a combat medic hardened by the death of war. It had happened one day – long before he had lost his entire unit – when their post had come under heavy artillery. He, in full gear, had ran toward one of the fallen soldiers before dragging him behind the shield of a dumpster. As he assessed the injuries, a bullet to the leg that had torn apart flesh and bone, he remembered looking up and seeing, out of the corner of his eye, an enemy combatant begin a rush toward them.

Since then, Owen couldn't remember much about the incident. He didn't even remember picking up his weapon. But he remembered the cold feeling of the trigger as he fired, the sound of the bullet as it shot, and the sight of the enemy falling to the ground. Though he had felt like time had stopped, Owen had turned back to his patient with ease. It wasn't until later, after he had left the battlefield that the weight of killing a man had sunk in.

His job was to save lives, not to take them. And he had realized, later that night as he walked outside for fresh air, his gun in his hand, that it suddenly wasn't black-and-white. His job in the army, at war, was anything but simple. It was complex, and it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. Firing that weapon hadn't made him feel strong; if anything, it made him hate this and how he felt himself slowly transforming. It made him hate himself, and want to kill demons that slowly started to spawn inside him.

As he walked briskly, he could hear something in the distance. On high alert now, considering every movement an enemy combatant, he gripped his weapon tightly and turned to the sight of the noise. He remembered his fear as the figure crawled out from the darkness, and suddenly as his vision became clearer, his uneasiness was replaced with a stunned sadness. Before him stood a woman, a fellow soldier, covered in her own blood. A gash above her eye had sliced open, leaving nothing but a wet trail of blood down the side of her face. Her uniform, too, was torn slightly as she numbly walked toward the barracks.

Owen remembered calling out to her, and the fear in her eyes as she spun around quickly, clearly unaware that she wasn't alone. His pace was quick as he moved toward her. As the distance between them closed, his heart sank. The woman before him, he knew her. He had worked with her before, listened to her joke about football and dream about returning home to her babies. And he knew. As soon as he approached her, he knew by the tensing of her body and fear in her eyes what had happened.

He had heard the stories, too, from buddies who had joked about sexual assaults. He had shrugged them off with cold indifference, disgusted by their humor about a situation that was so grave. His disgust only grew to see this fellow soldier, bruised and beaten, unable and unwilling to use her voice.

Owen sadly remembered the way she pleaded with him not to say anything to anyone. What haunted him more was not her begging for silence, but that she wanted it so badly for fear of ostracism, ridicule, and harassment from her fellow soldiers. She feared the people she needed to count on the most, and that had left a horrible, unsettled feeling in his stomach.

And even worse, he had let her go on by nurturing her feeling of abandonment. He had promised her he wouldn't say anything, and he hadn't. To anyone. Ever. He had simply gone on, pretending it hadn't happened, and avoided her gaze whenever they saw each other. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him the most. Their silence, and other traumas of war, had sent her into a steep depression she hadn't been able to climb out of.

That had wounded him to the core more than taking another man's life. And he had vowed to never let that happen again.

Owen sighed as the memory faded to reveal another haunting realization. History had repeated itself. Someone who he worked closely with had been brutally assaulted, her entire sense of safety ripped away. Like the first time he felt powerless and helpless, he found himself tied down to whatever April now decided.

Pain subsided to welcome a hard determination that he wouldn't sit back on the sidelines and watch as April's grief and pain overwhelmed her. That, he was sure, would kill both of them.

* * *

><p>The next morning, two days after April's attack, she finally had the courage to leave the house. Somehow Bailey had convinced the Chief to give her a week's sabbatical to recuperate, which she welcomed. It was hard enough getting out of bed, let alone heading back to the hospital…to the parking lot. Just the thought of her car made the hairs on her neck rise, so she pushed it away immediately as she stumbled out of her room. The farther she was away from her bed, the better. Staring at it made her feel she was part of a dream world, an observer to her life. Even the empty hallway felt surreal to her, like she was living in some cold nightmare from which she couldn't wake up.<p>

Though it was the morning, it was still dark in the bathroom when she shuffled in. Cloudy rain had scared away the sun, so no real light shone through. The white tile was covered in shadows, and as soon as April stepped in the grisly nightmares captured her thoughts. Her heart told her she was just in the bathroom in her home, but her head the darkness was all she could register. Wherever he had taken her she had only seen darkness, the darkness and his face as she felt him violently rip her apart with a sinister laugh.

Even as she quickly switched on the light, sending the demons back to hell, April couldn't quite sweep away the image of his face, dark eyes that wanted nothing besides witnessing her thrashing in agony. The solid determination mixed with sadism had mutilated her to her soul, tearing away her feeling of safety in her own skin, let alone her home.

Desperately, she tried to push the memory away because she needed to feel something besides this horror, see something besides her own tears, and gaze in the mirror at someone who wasn't a pathetic victim. She didn't want to stand here on the cold tile, stare at her bruised eye and scarring gash, and find herself gazing into her scarred soul. Because what she saw in that mirror wasn't a happy, caring surgeon, but a crippled mess she didn't recognize, that made her remember how powerless and weak she really was.

As she reached for the medicine cabinet to pull out her pink brush, she stopped, her fingers close to the mirror. The reflection shining back was haunting, forcing her to stifle a cry. Behind bruises, cuts, and blood she remembered running down her face, she could find her soul, muddled as it was. Somewhere it was down there, and it cried out to her, screaming for someone to come and free her from the ropes that tied her to the bedpost. She couldn't break free, and continued to scream. No one could hear her, and no one would come to save her.

She wanted to pound her broken hand into the mirror and watch something besides herself shatter. Because she saw his face beside her in the mirror, a smirk on his face like the one he had when he tore her jeans from her body. She would have hit the glass with more pleasure in having a choice than breaking the face reflecting atop her shoulder. Before her fist could rise, the action was halted when the door suddenly opened beside her, forcing her to jump back.

Her back was against the wall, arms covering her chest and stomach as she realized Alex had walked in. Immediately seeing her made him stop, his hand clenching the doorknob. The look of surprise on his face was replaced with…agitation? She could tell. All she could register was her fear, the surprise of someone abruptly invading her personal space.

"April?"

She whimpered slightly, clutching her arm as his grip relaxed on the door and he took a step in the bathroom. The movement suffocated her, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. "Go away, Alex."

His face twisted in concern. "What happened?"

"Go away," she repeated through gritted teeth, her arms violently shaking. "Just…Get the hell away from me. _Please_."

"April—"

"Get out! Get out and leave me the fuck alone!"

His face darkened in a scowl, perplexed by her position and angry, uncharacteristic words. It was too early in the morning to deal with this shit, he thought to himself, as he simply shook his head. With a slam of the door, he left.

The sound transported her back. She remembered weight lift off her body as he moved away from the bed. The smell of sweat invaded her nostrils. She swallowed, her throat tight at the metal taste of her own blood from her split lip. Suddenly, through the creak of the bed as she fought the restraints tying her hands to the bedpost, she realized a door had opened. Her heart flooded with fear that he'd come at her again or do something so much worse. Silence filled the room besides her heavy, strangled breaths and tortured whimpers that reflected nothing but fear.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sudden slam of the door. For a moment, brief, she thought this torment was over. Then she remembered the ropes which made her wrists bleed, that she was chained down to this hellish bed, and there was no escaping until he decided it was time to let her go or put her out of misery forever. She had no power, no choice, and his brutal violation of her body had already cemented that in her mind. It felt like a stake was driven into her heart again, and again, and it wouldn't end.

She wanted her brief moment of reprieve, and realized it was gone when she heard the door slowly creak open. Immediately, her body tensed as the fear rippled through her body.

"_Oh, and April?"_ She could swear he was smiling. _"Don't forget. I'll be right back. We aren't done."_

The door slammed again.

April realized suddenly through her tears that this atmosphere and people who didn't – or were unable – to have her back might kill her. She crumpled against the wall, sobbing to herself as she rocked back and forth. If she was afraid of death, she would run far away. But death didn't scare her anymore. In fact, she thought numbly as she wiped her tears away, it'd be a blessing she'd welcome with open arms, a blessing she had wanted more now than in the throes of the attack.

She wasn't afraid of dying, but the emotions that plagued her as she continued to live. Her heart ached in the realization that she was afraid of life.


	8. Grant Me Serenity

**A/N: I've gotten some different questions about the pairings in this fanfiction, so I just want to reiterate that they are April/Stark, Owen/Cristina, Meredith/Derek, Callie/Arizona, and Mark/Lexie. **

**I ****do not**** ship April/Alex. However, for this story they will be friends. I've decided to have him step up in a pretty awesome way down the line. But that's it. No romance, whatsoever. **

**Finally, I want to say that I really enjoyed 8x07 "Put Me In, Coach" where everyone played baseball. I hope more episodes are like that in the future. Drunk Cristina and Meredith are the best, and I really liked the Callie/April mentorship going on. Definitely hope to see more of that. **

**Also, thanks so much for the reviews! They mean a lot!**

* * *

><p>"Morning, Dr. Sloan," Jackson greeted as the older surgeon joined him at the nurse's station. He had just completed rounds, and was excited to see on the board that Mark was performing a breast reconstruction. Though it wasn't a surgery that brought him thrills, right now anything in plastics was good enough for him. The more OR time, the better. Quickly, he closed the chart shut and asked, "Anything you need from me, sir?"<p>

Mark only stared down at a chart, flipping through pages. A few moments later, he looked up. "Did you say something, Avery?"

Jackson frowned, but repeated, "Did you need anything from me, sir?"

Mark only blinked. A few seconds later, he answered, "No."

"Something wrong, sir?" Jackson eyed Mark carefully, concerned. If there was anything he had learned as a resident, it was that if his attending was in a sour mood, the surgeon may take frustrations out on him. He didn't want that, and if he could understand the cause of the distraction early, maybe he could combat and overcome it. That, and he feared it was something about Lexie. Work was definitely tense because of Mark and Lexie's past relationship. Or maybe it was his personal relationship with Lexie that was tense. Jackson couldn't tell anymore, the lines were blurred beyond recognition.

Mark looked down at his chart before he flipped it shut. "Everything's fine, Jackson. I won't need you this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"You're off my service for the rest of the day," Mark replied simply. "So, you can find another attending to work with."

Jackson crossed his arms. "Did I…Did I do something, sir?"

"No," Mark answered simply. "I just don't need you. I hear Dr. Stark needs a resident, though. You can go work with him." Mark smiled at Jackson's scowl, gently patting his shoulder as he walked away. "Good luck, Avery."

Jackson groaned, sliding his pen in his pocket as he turned away from the nurse's station. He did not want to work with Stark today, let alone involve himself in pediatrics. As he walked toward the elevator, Jackson made a note to ask April why she ditched out on her duties, leaving him to do her work. Were he anything like Karev, he'd bitch her out for it. He could never yell at April, however. She was his best friend; she was one of his only allies here. Still, he wasn't going to let this one go. She so owed him for this.

He found himself in the pediatric ward moments later, immediately stopping to see Stark talking to a mother of one of his young patients. Knowing space was needed, Jackson waited for a few minutes until the mother walked away, seemingly relieved from whatever Stark had told her. Experience told Jackson that s surgery had gone well; though that was great news for the patient and the family, it wasn't necessarily great for Jackson. Stark would definitely have an air of arrogance about him now.

Sighing, Jackson approached the older surgeon and leaned against the nurse's station, waiting until Stark turned to notice him. When the older surgeon did, Jackson frowned when he looked away, disinterested. "Dr. Stark?"

"Yes, Dr. Avery?" Stark asked mildly, his tone edged in irritation.

"I heard you needed an extra set of hands and, well, I don't have anywhere else to be."

Stark simply nodded, scribbling something down on a chart before clicking his pen closed.

Jackson frowned at the small similarity between Stark and Sloan, how their behavior seemed so distant. Though Stark's cold distance was expected, he couldn't help but scowl at the coincidence that both older surgeons remained bothered by something he couldn't identify. Never able to read this man, Jackson hesitantly asked, "So, do you need help, Dr. Stark?"

Finally, he looked up, his face twisted in what Jackson thought was a permanent scowl. Stark eyed him carefully, just like Mark had, before he asked curtly, "And why are you here in place of Dr. Kepner?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?"

"No sir," Jackson answered, defensive. "I haven't seen her in a few days. I don't know why she's not here."

Stark seemed a little taken aback by the statement, offering only a questioning murmur as he turned back to his chart. Grabbing two more, he stacked the massive binders and handed them over to Jackson. "Well, in that case, you can go do some rounds now."

Jackson frowned at the pile of paperwork now shoved in his hands. "But, Dr. Stark—"

"You offered your services, Dr. Avery. I need these done. Or…is that too hard for you?"

The condescension angered Jackson as his grip tightened around the green binders. That, coupled with the expectant eyes that stared pompously at him, made Jackson want to fling the charts down and walk away. But he was no quitter. And if April wasn't going to be here for the patients, he certainly could rise to the occasion. "No, sir, not at all."

"Good. Now go away."

That wasn't a problem, Jackson thought to himself as he took the charts to begin a whole new set of rounds. April definitely owed him for this one. If she had ducked out of her rotation because she didn't want to be around the cranky, older surgeon given their history… he'd never let her hear the end of it.

* * *

><p>Mark thumbed through a chart quickly as he stood in front of a private examination room. He hadn't lied to Jackson completely when he sent him away to more mundane endeavors. Simply, he hadn't told him the entire truth. Yes, he didn't need Jackson's help; this next case he could handle himself with ease. However, he had neglected to tell Jackson exactly <em>why<em> he didn't need help. After all, it wasn't by his own decision to keep Jackson away from the case. He couldn't refuse the simple request made by his patient.

Sighing at the slew of injuries that needed proper healing, Mark closed the chart shut before he knocked gently on the door.

No response.

Any other patient and he would have simply entered with a sincere, well-mannered smile.

Mark knocked again.

Still nothing.

Sighing, he knocked a third time as he called out softly, "April, it's Mark. I'm not going to come in unless you say I can." Through the door he heard a soft snort. "So, can I come in?"

"Sure," came the muffled, quiet response.

Mark braced himself as he opened the door and stepped into the examination room, closing it swiftly so no one else could see her. He kept his face straight though he felt his body tense at the sight of her, sitting on the examination chair like she was both ready to run away and recede into a dark corner. He had seen many patients whose face needed repair after a violent attack but this…This was unlike anything he had ever seen. It hit him so close to home that he almost regretting accepting the task Callie had pushed toward him.

Because he wasn't the best with serious situations, he plastered a soft smile on his face and moved toward her. "How long have you been waiting?"

She shrugged. "Not very long."

Mark nodded. "Good. Can I…?" He motioned toward her face, at the nose that looked broken and eye socket, which needed obvious repair. He should have looked at her sooner.

April nodded slowly.

Mark took notice of the way her body tensed as he stood only inches away from her. Gently, slowly, he lifted his hands to gently inspect her wounds. Through the silence he heard a soft whimper escape her as his fingers almost touched her skin. The sound felt like she had kneed him. Mark pushed aside his emotions as he took close inspection of her nose. "It's broken."

"That's what Bailey said."

Mark inspected her closely, calmly, trying his best to pretend that she was any other patient and wasn't here because some monster had beat the hell out of her before…The thought of what must have followed sickened him so much that he pushed the thought away quickly.

"Is it going to require surgery?" April asked after a few moments, haunted by the silence.

Mark smiled gently. "It will. Your septum was deviated and I need to go in and repair it so that it can heal properly."

"It hurts like hell."

"You did break it," he commented dryly.

"Hey, Dr. Sloan?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you not stand in front of me?"

Mark looked down at their position and immediately berated himself for lack of personal space. He stood right in front of her locked legs; her hands covered her knees tightly, as if he was going to pry them apart. With a soft smile, Mark turned so he stood beside her. "Better?"

"Yes." After a moment she added weakly, "Thanks."

"Not a problem." As he took in her eye socket – remembering the CT scan he had just inspected – Mark realized this was where the most damage was inflicted. Though he had savagely broken her nose, the attack had left her eye socket badly broken. "You have an orbital rim fracture."

She frowned. "Yeah?"

Mark nodded slowly. Feeling his stomach twist, he asked gently, "How many times did he hit you, April?"

She immediately looked down at her hands. "I lost count after five."

Mark sighed softly. "Have you spoken to an ophthalmologist?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

"He's going to be in there with you to repair the double vision," April answered softly. "We're scheduled for surgery this afternoon."

"And will Dr. Shepherd be joining us?"

"No. I just have a concussion."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" He snorted gently. "You got lucky then." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. The flare in her good eye told him she hadn't let the comment slip. "April, I didn't—"

"Stop," she cut him off angrily. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry," he apologized weakly.

April only snorted, as if she didn't believe him. "Not as sorry as I am."

Her shaky words and lack of eye contact felt like a punch to his stomach. The comment was purely reflex, and he hadn't realized the impact it would have on her. Sure, she was lucky in regards to head trauma, but with everything else? He hadn't even thought about her other injuries. Those, he realized, weren't lucky at all. She didn't want to talk about it, however, and for that matter he didn't mind forgetting it. "So, we're on for later this afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Who's the ophthalmologist repairing your eye?"

"Uh…Dr. York, I think."

"I'll double check to make sure," Mark reassured her, seeing confusion in her tired eyes. A moment passed before he asked gently, "Hey, April?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you been sleeping?"

April avoided his eyes, silent. A shudder passed through her exhausted body as she told him, "I can't sleep. I…My body won't let me. And I'm so tired. I just…I can't close my eyes. I can't sleep. I want to sleep so bad."

"That's not unnatural."

"Is it normal for my entire body to hurt?"

Mark shrugged. "It's a physical manifestation of what you're feeling emotionally."

"How the hell do you know what I'm feeling?" April snapped suddenly, anger flaring through her voice and tense body as she clenched her fists. Her bite had startled him, she could tell, and for some reason she couldn't place, she broke down in tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, April." He would have wrapped her into a half-hug if he weren't afraid his mere touch would send her body into paralysis. "Really… It's all right."

April sniffled, the action making her feel like her nose was ripped from her face. "I don't know what's happening to me."

He didn't feel the need to remind her she was raped. There was no way she'd ever forget that. "I…Do you want me to get someone for you…?"

"No. I'm all right."

"I'm going to get someone," he insisted. "I'll…I'll be right back. Who do you want me to get? I'll get—"

"Don't get anyone!" She shouted. "I don't want anyone in here, okay? Is that so hard to understand?"

Before Mark could take a step back from her vocal outburst that would soon turn physical, he feared, the door opened to reveal Bailey. Her face transformed from irritated to furious to see the scene before her. Quickly, she shut the door and walked over to them. "Dr. Sloan, what the hell did you do?"

He threw his hands up in self-defense. "I…I didn't do anything."

"Are you saying this is her fault?"

Mark immediately cowered at the furious look in Bailey's eyes, like she was going to rip him apart. "I…No!"

"Get out!"

He didn't need a second order as he grabbed the chart. Before he left the room completely, however, he reminded April, "Your surgery will go great, Kepner, I promise. I won't let you down."

"Out!" Bailey roared, enunciating her rage by pointing at the door. She only frowned when he closed the door gently. Turning to April, who had buckled over and clutched her sides, she gently took a hand. Voice softening, she attempted to reassure her with, "Hey, hey it's all right."

April looked up slowly, tears falling from her face. "I don't know what's happening to me. I…I can't control anything I say or do or anything that happens to me. I can't control anything. I don't…I don't have a choice in anything anymore. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," Bailey reassured. "Do you understand me? _Nothing _is wrong with you. This…what you're feeling is normal, okay?"

She only whimpered in response. Finally, moments of silence passed before she gently whispered, "I didn't mean to yell at him."

"He knows that." Gently, Bailey rubbed her hand in reassurance.

"Dr. Bailey?"

"Yeah?"

"Who knows?"

Bailey inspected her closely. "Well, me, and Dr. Sloan and Dr. Shepherd and…"

"No," April cut off after a moment. "I mean, who at the hospital knows? Does…Does everyone know?"

Bailey almost didn't answer her before she told her, "Not everyone knows. We've managed to keep it relatively quiet. I mean…People know you're hurt, but they don't know why."

"Can we keep it that way?"

"You don't want people to know?"

April snorted. "Would you?"

She had her there. Bailey only shrugged in response. She wouldn't want anyone to know, either. _Especially _the people in this hospital who would stare at her like she was some helpless victim, like they pitied her. "Hey, why don't we get you out of here? You've got a couple hours before surgery."

April nodded weakly. "Okay."

Bailey was gentle as she helped her jump off the examination chair. Her hand around her shoulders, Bailey led her out of the room and down the hall, toward the on-call room where she could lie down and rest. "You don't look like you've been sleeping."

"I haven't."

"Okay, well, how about we go to the on-call room so you rest a little bit? You don't have to sleep, just lay down."

"Anyone can walk in," April answered, fear clear in her voice. "I don't—"

"You can sleep on the top bunk and I'll stay on the bottom," Bailey assured her. "I won't let anyone come in, I promise."

April only nodded. "Dr. Bailey?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we keep the lights on?"

"Of course. We can do anything you'd like." Bailey gently opened the door to the on-call room for her, letting her walk inside before she followed her in. Bailey quickly flipped on the lights as she watched April hop up to the top bunk. "I'll be right here if you need me, okay?"

When Bailey didn't receive an answer, she crawled into the lower bunk. Though she was here, she didn't sleep, ready to battle any surgeon who walked through that door. Not a chance in hell was she going to let this woman down. They'd have to all go through her to get to April, and if people thought she was the Nazi before, they hadn't seen anything yet.

* * *

><p>"Glad to have you back, Dr. Stark," Arizona greeted with a smile as he joined her at the nurse's station.<p>

Stark eyed her skeptically before he snorted. "You are not."

Her smile faded. "Okay, maybe I'm not, but it sure was nice to be head of Pediatrics again."

Stark only smiled and shook his head, flipping open a chart. "Well, don't get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

Arizona felt her face fall at the thought, especially the grin on his face, like he took pleasure in her pain. Shaking the horrible thought away, Arizona, too, turned back to her chart and began to flip through it. A liver transplant was no easy task on a tiny human, so she needed to be at the top of her game.

"Hey, Dr. Robbins," he flipped a page, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Any idea why Kepner didn't show up for her rotation today?"

Arizona slowly looked up from her chart to stare at him. Stark still stared down at his own, clearly half paying attention to her and medicine. Biting her lip softly, she remembered Callie's breakdown in the kitchen. Counting the days, she realized April's attack was the same day he had left for the seminar. There was no way he could have known. "Um…"

Her hesitance forced him to look up. "What, Dr. Robbins?"

"You, um, don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" He asked, turning away from his chart to cross his arms.

Arizona was slightly taken aback by the uneven tone to his voice, what she assumed was fear. So much for not having any feelings, she thought to herself. God, this made this so much harder to tell him then. "They're keeping this on the down low."

Stark scowled. "Robbins."

Arizona sighed heavily before telling him, "She was assaulted three days ago."

"I beg your pardon?"

She nodded at the shock – and agony? – on his face. "Yeah. Um…She was kidnapped and, uh, physically and sexually assaulted."

"_What_?"

"The Chief gave her a sabbatical so she can, you know, recover." Arizona realized after a moment that her words went in one ear and out the other by the blank look on his face and the way he took a step back from her. Unsure what to say to him, and a little surprised by his reaction, she told him, "She's alive, Dr. Stark. She's not dead." The darkening of his eyes told her that thought hadn't even crossed his mind, and now that it was there, there was no turning back.

After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat. "Is…Is she all right?"

"She was just raped. What do you think?"

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. The words rape, kidnapped, and assault played through his mind over and over again. Simply the thought of her facing a physical assault sent chills down his spine, but to think that someone had violated her so brutally…He wasn't sure he felt anything besides shock. Looking back up at Arizona, he asked, "Where is she?"

"I don't think seeing her right now is a good idea. Not by you. You know, considering."

"I would never…"

"But she might not feel that way," Arizona told him gently. "I think it's best if you keep your distance, for now. You know, for her sake."

"Does…Does she have someone who she can lean on?"

"Yeah. Dr. Bailey and Torres have been taking care of her. She's in good hands, Dr. Stark. She is." Arizona thought for a moment that he was going to slam his chart of the counter, he looked so furious. "Dr. Stark—"

"Will you excuse me?"

Arizona frowned as he turned and quickly shuffled away. The crack in his voice told her the news had leveled him.

Stark found himself opening the door to the on-call room minutes later. He needed to go somewhere else, somewhere quiet and dark so he didn't have to stare at people. Needing to collect his thoughts and rocky emotions, Stark gently shut the door behind him. He didn't get far, however, before he found Bailey glaring at him. What the hell had he done to her?

"Get out," she barked quietly.

"What?"

Bailey didn't say anything as she rose from the cot. Her stare darkened, however, as she walked toward him. Though a few inches shorter than he, her domineering attitude was enough to make him take a step back. "What are you doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute to relax," he answered quickly. "That's it. I…" He stopped as his gaze travelled past her to see April on the top bunk, sitting upright and staring down at them. His heart fell to see the bruises, to realize Arizona hadn't lied. The sight made him want to vomit. Her eyes, staring down at them, no longer held the same compassion and spirit he had seen before leaving. She looked dead, like someone had ripped out her soul.

Feeling nauseous, he forced himself to look away from her when Bailey poked his chest. "Dr. Bailey—"

"What do you think you're doing? Coming in here to bother her?"

"I wasn't—"

"I know what you think about," Bailey told him. "With guys it's all about sex, well you know what, if that's your intention, you might as well stay the hell away. She doesn't need you coming around all sex-craved after what she's been through."

His mouth fell open in shock. "Look, Dr. Bailey—"

"He's all right, Dr. Bailey," April cut him off before Bailey could begin another tirade. Her voice must have shocked them both because Stark looked up at her, and Bailey whipped around. She simply nodded. "He's all right."

Bailey eyed her carefully. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. He won't hurt me."

"That wasn't my concern." After a few moments of solid eye contact, Bailey turned back around to face Stark, who looked both frightened and confused. Eyeing him up and down, she poked his chest again before warning, "I'm watching you."

April crawled down from the bunk bed. As soon as she hit the bottom, she took a spot next to Bailey. Softly commenting, she said, "We should probably go now."

Bailey nodded. "Okay."

April didn't meet Stark's shocked gaze as she walked out of the room, with Bailey not far behind. Before Bailey left, however, she made sure to give Stark one final, dark glare to show she meant business.

He felt nauseous and dazed. The feeling that his world had caved in was hard to shake, as was the desire to put his fist through the wall. April was raped. The thought was enough to send him toward the garbage, retching until he had the strength to pull away. Shifting his position, he leaned against the wall as the queasy feeling lingered. Stark wasn't sure which emotion was stronger: rage or shock.

He didn't know how to help April, if he even could. The thought that she would be stuck in this pit of pain forever haunted him.

Through his haze, he was vaguely aware of his shaking hands. Looking down, he saw only the fog of his own tears. Strangely enough, he felt as if his own soul was violated, too.


	9. No One's Loved Me Yet

After her surgery, April had taken the rest of the day off. At least, that was what Bailey had told her as they walked out of the hospital together. Bailey's shift had ended so she offered to drive April home, not before making sure the house was secure of anyone who could hurt or question April in her fragile state.

Too scared to speak up, April didn't bother telling Bailey that it was all too much. If anything, Bailey's actions heightened her fears. True, Bailey's actions reflected the fear that wracked her mind. How could she not enter the house, afraid that around the corner she'd find her attacker waiting for her, a manic smirk on his face? For that, she refused to round a corner without inspecting the room clearly. The unexpected scared her the most, she realized.

April was afraid to walk up the stairs, too. Each creak of the old steps sent her back to the bone-chilling memory when he had first tied her down to the bed. He had left, moments after securing her wrists tightly against the bedposts and walked out of the room. Through the darkness of her blindfold, April knew he had left the door open, promising to return with a surprise for her.

She vaguely remembered screaming out for help, her cries overpowered by her shaking sobs as she pictured how he would hurt her. She should have known that nothing would prepare her for what happened when she heard the floorboards creak as he slowly made his way back up the stairs.

She couldn't get the sound out of her head.

_Each step had sent terror through her body, forcing her to tense up before she tried to break free of the ropes that tied her down. Nothing helped. If anything, her attempt to escape hurt her more when she felt blood run down her arms, ripped raw from her force. Her heart raced when she realized she wasn't going anywhere, and that he would soon return and do whatever the hell he wanted. _

_An agonized moan escaped her as he knocked on the door trim, laughing softly. "Did you miss me?"_

"_Please!" She seized up off the bed, flailing. "Please don't hurt me!"_

_He laughed again. "I can't make any promises, Dr. Kepner."_

"_I…I have a name. My…My name—name's—"_

"_I don't care," he snarled angrily, his hand tightly grabbing her leg. She moaned in misery when she felt him force her legs apart, and suddenly things became all too real, to horrific for her to even comprehend. She wanted to be somewhere, _anywhere, _else. Not here. Not where he'd spend the night torturing her before likely killing her. _

_Though she had gone through this horror before, it hurt her to think that still no one had loved her. Still, she was someone's daughter and it didn't matter. He'd rape her anyway. He'd kill her most likely, and her life would be over. _

_No one had loved her yet._

_April started to cry when his other hand grabbed her other leg and stopped her kicking. "Please! Please stop!"_

"_Don't fight," he whispered softly. "It won't matter. It'll all be over soon anywhere." He laughed. "Or maybe not."_

"_Please stop!" She felt a punch muffle her scream as he climbed on top of her, the weight of his body about to crush her as she tried to thrash against him. His breath was hot against her face as he hit her again, forcing her head against the pillow. _

_The bed creaked with each movement. _

She'd never forget that sound. It haunted her so deeply that she couldn't bring herself to walk up the steps. Instead, she curled up on the couch with a blanket and turned on the television, hoping to find something that would bring her back to her childhood. Those were much simpler times. Times when she had no fears, only an innocence that had stayed with her until someone had taken that away from her.

Maybe happy endings only existed in fairytales. Maybe she was naïve to think that her first time wouldn't be perfect, but a vicious violation that scarred her body and broke her soul.

This place brought her no comfort, she realized, as she receded back into the cushions. She couldn't bring herself to sigh into the pillow as she normally did after a long day. If the memory couldn't prevent the action, her healing nose and eye socket certainly stopped it.

April wanted nothing more than to succumb to her tears. She'd bawl if she had any tears left, she thought sardonically to herself. She only felt a thick lethargy that made her never want to see another human again. April couldn't take any more stares reminding her that she was a victim – no, a survivor, as Bailey continually told her. She was a survivor, apparently, who wanted nothing more than…She wasn't sure what she wanted. April just knew it wasn't here in this house where her memories would kill her.

Still, she was unable to move even as she heard the doorbell ring. Someone else would get it, she was sure.

April sighed heavily when minutes passed and no one went to the door. Hoping the visitor would go away, her hopes died when the doorbell rang again. April ran her hands through her mussed hair and yelled, as loud as her hoarse voice would allow, "Go away!"

The bell rang again.

Frustrated and furious at her visitor's inability to care, April slowly moved from the couch. Her entire body hurt as her hand twisted the doorknob, opening it slowly. April was prepared to berate her visitor when she stopped suddenly. Her hand tightened for some sense of security as her stomach twisted dangerously, making her want to vomit. Even though she knew he wouldn't hurt her, there was a strong fear that somehow she'd be hurt again. Somehow her world would come crashing down and she'd lose control all over again if only she let go and allowed another man to strike up a conversation in private.

April just wanted these feelings to go away. She didn't want to stare at this man, whose eyes reflected pain, and remember the look in her attacker's eyes as he had first approached her. Pushing back the pain, she asked quietly, "What do you want?"

"I…" Stark stopped talking, his jaw clamping shut tightly. Finally, he found the courage to ask hoarsely, "Surgery went good?"

April frowned and leaned against the doorframe, her body tired and in need of some support. "Does it look like it?"

"I'm a pediatric surgeon, not a plastic surgeon," he deadpanned with a shrug. "I just wanted to see how you were doing and…I'm glad to see you're doing good."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you?"

It was Stark's turn to scowl as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Her words, and broken appearance, obviously flustered him. "Y-Yes. As good as can be."

April nodded slowly, turning her head toward her chin so he couldn't see the glisten in her eyes. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she cleared her throat. Her foot traced lines in the carpet as she asked, "How much do you know?"

"Just that you were…" He stopped suddenly, as if the admission pained him. "…Assaulted." He felt like she slapped him when all he heard was a soft murmur of pained agreement. "April—"

Her head snapped up quickly. "It's April now?" She added a moment later, "_Dr. Stark?_"

Stark could only stare at her, a permanent frown fixed on his face. "This isn't a professional call."

"Really?" She snorted. "Because I thought everything with you was strictly business. Or are you still as two-faced as before?"

She was lashing out, he knew. And he deserved it, too, for how he had treated her after their subsequent "break up" (or as he remembered, the crushing of his heart). That didn't mean he didn't care about her, though. To see her in this state, it pained him more than the loss of any patient. Her violation wounded him so profoundly that he felt only shock, fury, and a desperate need to help her… to save her from herself.

Stark looked down at his gym shoes as he asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

"Do I look all right to you?"

Stark met her fiery gaze that quickly transformed into agony. Her eyes glistened as a tear rolled down her cheek, which she furiously wiped away. "Can I ask you something, April?"

"You're going to ask it no matter what I say," she snapped.

"That's not true," he answered quietly, stifling a soft smile when her eyebrows tilted in surprise. "I won't make you do or say anything you don't want to. Ever."

His words strengthened her tears as she whispered, avoiding his gaze, "Thank you."

Stark fought to keep the conversation about her wellbeing alive without reminding her too much of her attack. "How's your vision?"

"Good," she answered weakly before asking, "You trying to examine me, Dr. Stark?"

He smiled. "I guess I wouldn't be too good at it, huh? You're not a child."

"Some would disagree with you," April answered quietly. Some people like Alex, who found her annoying… who slammed the door on her when he deemed her wounds too unimportant to deal with. "But, you're right. I suppose you wouldn't be too good at it."

"Which has nothing to do with the fact that I'm an incompetent, heartless wretch." He smiled when she smirked with a shake of her head. He was glad to see some happiness on her face, as brief as it was. Stark asked curiously, "Do you think I'm a heartless wretch, April?"

She shrugged and met his gaze with a soft smile. "You did almost cut a girl's leg off for no reason."

"I did," he agreed. The awkward silence was filled when wind sent chills down his spine and made him shiver. He fished through his brain to find something, _anything_, to keep the conversation away from her assault still, even if it was forced and somewhat awkward. "So I guess I'm crazy on top of heartless."

"I'd say chopping off a girl's leg just for the hell of it is pretty crazy." She smiled softly. "You'd make a hell of a serial killer."

"Nah." He waved his hand. "I'd much rather make a plan for world domination."

"That's definitely more your style," April commented. Again, silence filled the air between them so she twisted her foot into the carpet. Anything to avoid his firm, open glance that reminded her of her attack.

Would anyone treat her like she was a normal human, and not a girl who was severely violated? Right now she just wanted to pretend like it hadn't happened, and live in her world of denial while she tried to sleep her days away.

Slowly, she looked up from her haze and took in his appearance. His jeans and fleece surprised her. It wasn't until she saw his ears turn a slight pink that she realized how cold it was outside. She hadn't even noticed, too blinded by her own emotional pain to feel anything. "Can I ask you something, Dr. Stark?"

"Anything," Stark told her earnestly.

"Why aren't you asking me about…" April shrugged as she added meekly, "what happened?"

His eyes darkened. "Same reason you don't want to talk about it, I'm sure."

April snorted. "You want to pretend it never happened?"

"I may not have treated you the best after our quasi-romance ended," he said after a moment quietly, "but I never wanted to see you hurt. Ever."

"Me either."

Stark nodded, saddened by the fact that he was at a loss for words – and subsequently couldn't be around her to watch over her. "Well, I suppose I'm going to go. I just wanted to come and check to see how you were doing."

She wouldn't thank him for reminding her of something she'd never have the ability to forget. April didn't say anything, forcing more awkward tension into the conversation. She knew when he only nodded that their conversation was over and he wasn't expecting anything else. As he turned around and made his way back down the driveway, she found herself unable to move from the doorframe. Soon he was gone, leaving her to her growing despair and denial.

Shutting the door, April wanted nothing more than to forget. She would give anything not to remember what he had done to her. So she locked the door and curled up on the couch with her pink blanket, turning on some Disney movie to bring her back to her childhood, to much happier times when her world hadn't been ripped apart.

She could pretend the rape hadn't happened for right now; all her energy could will her denial forward. What she couldn't deny was the heartbreaking realization that, given the chance, she was certain Robert Stark could have loved her.

And now she knew no one ever would.


	10. A Chance to Make It Right

A long day finally over, Alex got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Though he'd have to head back in a few hours to pick up Meredith and Cristina, it was worth it. He didn't have to wait for the bus and could head home now, for a moment of peace and sleep. As much as he loved the kids, Alex didn't want to have to find a way to mosey around the hospital. And the on-call room didn't seem as appealing when he was all by himself.

Chuckling to himself, he shoved the keys in his jacket pocket as he walked toward the steps of the house. However, Alex didn't walk far for, even ten feet away, he could see Robert Stark sitting on the steps. Frowning, Alex approached him slowly. He was so surprised that he only stared at this man, this surgeon who had made his life hell, and wondered how long he had been sitting there.

After a few moments, Alex finally asked, "Dr. Stark?"

He looked up suddenly, startled by his new visitor. "Oh, hey Karev."

More taken back than Stark's hunched frame on the step, Alex was startled to see the tears in his eyes that he furiously wiped away with a short, strangled sniffle. Frowning slightly, Alex was unsure how to handle this new situation. He looked around frantically, as if hoping someone would come along to help him.

Scratching his head thoughtfully, Alex finally spat out, "You all right, dude?"

"Do I look all right to you, Karev?" Robert snapped, shaking his head at the thought.

"That was probably a stupid question."

"You think?"

Alex scowled. He expected this kind of behavior in the hospital, when he completed rounds, but it felt misplaced out here in the real world. Well, Alex thought to himself suddenly, it would have been more strange to see this man actually nice. Alex held back a snort at the thought that this cranky, grouchy older surgeon actually had a soul and was capable of kindness. That display would be stranger than Stark's grouchy demeanor.

Sighing heavily, Alex took a seat next to him on the step and asked, "So you've seen her?"

Robert only nodded, refusing to look at Alex as he stared off into the distance. It was clear to Alex that this man didn't want to him to see the tears, the anguish that came from the sight of April in such a broken, violated state. With a soft sigh, Alex kicked at the ground gently. "How did it go?"

"I don't know…I think she might..." Robert trailed off before he scoffed. "Why am I even telling you?"

"Dude, who else are you going to tell?"

Robert met his gaze before he shrugged. "I guess."

"Does…" Alex kicked at a rock again. "Does she know you're still out here?"

"Doubt it," Robert answered after a moment. His head shot up suddenly, eyes firm as he added, "And if you tell her, I'll make you clean bedpans for a month and do nothing else."

Alex frowned at the thought. "Fine. I won't say anything."

"Good."

Alex nodded in agreement. "It, uh, it bothers you what happened to her?"

"It doesn't bother you?" Robert asked carefully, his tone rough and angry at the thought of such insensitivity. "Because it damn well should. That woman…She was so…" He trailed off, as if unable to describe how he felt about her, how perfect he saw her to be. "And now she's…She's so scared and hurt and…You're damn straight that bothers me. That bothers me down to my core."

After a moment, Alex sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

"Better not have been," Robert warned gruffly. He turned away from Alex again with another sniffle. Finally, he said quietly, "I'm going to go."

Alex watched him stand. "Hey, Dr. Stark?"

Robert stared up at the sky. "Yeah?"

"I'll watch out for her, when you aren't around…if that'll make you feel more comfortable about her being here."

Robert scoffed. "Since when do you care about what I want?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't." He smiled when Stark chuckled slightly at the thought. "But you care a lot about her, and I do, too, and I think we can find some common ground there."

"You care about her?"

Again, Alex shrugged. "She's not so bad. I've gotten used to her." He paused before asking, "So we're good?"

"I still don't like you, Karev."

Alex smiled after a moment. "Trust me, dude, I don't like you either."

"So you'll page me if anything happens?" He nodded, pleased, when Alex grunted in agreement. Wiping away final tears, Robert ordered after a moment, "You'll tell no one about this."

"Not a soul."

"I'll see you at work tomorrow, Kavev."

"Oh, can't wait." Alex smiled when Robert chuckled as he walked down the driveway. At least they had found something to agree upon, even under the horrible circumstances.

* * *

><p>The knock on the door pulled April from her silent, frustrated musings. Sighing heavily, she threw the ball of yarn down, turning her gaze to the doorframe. Alex stood there, haggard from a day of surgery. He looked more exhausted than ever before. As much as April tried, she couldn't forget the look on his face after he slammed the door on her in the bathroom. Sadly, she wasn't sure she could ever forgive him for that indiscretion.<p>

When he didn't move, April turned her attention back to her loom.

Alex scratched his head after a moment, watching her closely. "You knitting a hat or something?"

April snorted, squinting in frustration as the yarn became knotted on itself. "Or something."

"You, uh, you want some help with that?"

April looked up at him, surprised. "_You _know how to knit?"

He shrugged. "Not really, but…I might be able to help. I'm pretty good at following directions."

"Some might not agree with you."

Wordlessly, Alex pushed himself off the frame and moved to take a seat beside her at the kitchen table, covered in balls of yarn. Absentmindedly, he grabbed one and inspected it as he asked, "You get that from Stark?"

"Maybe."

He smiled gently, throwing the yarn down. "Did he just come to see you?"

"Jealous?"

Alex chuckled after a moment, scratched his neck gently, and asked, "Me? Jealous of an older, cranky, complacent…jackass?"

"You know," April smiled as she looped the yarn around the final loom, "you kind of remind me of him." April eyed him carefully when he snorted. "He's kind of like an older version of you."

"Except?"

"Except what?"

"You were going to say something else," Alex told her. "I could hear it in your voice. He's kind of like an older version of me except…"

"Except he didn't slam a door on me when he saw how upset I was. Except he sought me out, to make sure I was okay. He didn't slam a door and not make sure I was okay."

Wracked with the guilt of her tired, sad eyes, Alex couldn't do anything but look away from her. Finally, he found the courage to speak and said quietly, "I'm really sorry about that, April. I just… I wasn't—"

"There's no excuse."

Her firm tone stopped him from an attempted defense. "You're right. There is no excuse for how I handled that a few days ago. And I'm really sorry."

"You mean that?"

"Yeah," Alex answered with a nod. "I do."

"You know," April continued to knit, as if it provided her a relief from stress, "I'd believe you a lot more if you looked at me when you said that." When she looked up at him, his gaze was steady on hers. "Want to try that again?"

"I am sorry," Alex repeated, his eyes steady on hers. "Really."

"Now I believe you."

Nodding, Alex turned back to his yarn. Surveying the table, at the strands of red, orange, yellow, green, and blue, he asked gently, "Are you trying to make a rainbow scarf or something?"

"What?"

Alex pointed down at her loom. "You're working with purple right now. You making a rainbow scarf?"

"Maybe."

The softness in her voice, more broken than relaxed, reminded Alex of his mother after he had found her one night in the living room, bruised and beaten at his father's violet hands. Even at a young age, Alex had understood what happened. In the years that followed, the broken, tired tone of his mother's voice had turned permanent. One day, years later, Alex had tried his damnedest to help his mother find some sense of peace. He had driven his father out of the house after his own violent retaliation and, for a brief moment in time, his mother hadn't sounded so destroyed. Back then, he had stepped up for someone who seemed unable to stand up for herself.

And Alex was sure, despite his track record for leaving women with emotional breakdowns, he could stand up for April now. He could help her, even though he wasn't quite sure how.

Bridging the silence, because Alex needed time to think about exactly how he could rebuild the bridge he had burnt down with her, he asked, "How long was Stark here for?"

April shrugged. "Not very long."

From the looks of April's work, Stark had sat on the doorstep for a while, his emotions strong, his need to protect the woman he so desparately cared fore even stronger. "What did he want?"

"Just to check in and see how I was doing, I guess," April answered quietly. "I think he was on his way home from work."

"He was."

April raised an eyebrow curiously. "For someone who doesn't like him, you sure are asking a lot about him. What gives?"

"Just…Don't want to see him hurt you, is all." Alex sighed heavily, remembering the tears in Stark's eyes. They were eyes that told Alex he'd never hurt her. "But I guess he couldn't hurt you any worse than I did, right?"

"No, guess not."

Alex didn't like the way her eyes fell, suddenly saddened by whatever prospect he had forced her to consider with his statement. Gently, as if afraid himself, Alex reached out to place a hand on her wrist. Her eyes flicked swiftly to his hand, then at him; they suddenly no longer looked sad, but on fire, as if any man's touch lit a fury inside her she never wanted to know existed. Even when she gazed down at his hand, Alex did not pull his hand away from her. "April, look at me."

Hesitantly, April met his gaze. "Alex, move your hand."

"April—"

"Take away your hand," she repeated forcefully. Her voice faltered only for a moment as she added, begging, "Please."

She didn't need to ask a third time as Alex slowly retracted his hand, laying it down on the table. "April, please look at me."

"What?"

He sighed when she met his gaze. The black under her eyes told him she was sleep deprived, and the dryness of her skin indicated malnutrition, both common after traumatic experiences. By themselves, that would mess her up, but combined…It was all too real how much trouble she was in if someone didn't step up. If Alex had learned anything from his brother, it was that he needed to delicately ease into the idea of treatment. If he outright suggested it, she'd rip his head off and tell him she didn't need, or want, his help. With April, he had to remain gentle and calm – even if her sharp comebacks made him want to angrily stand and storm away from her.

"_What_, Alex?" She gave him a dark glare. "If you aren't going to say something, I'd like to go back to my knitting." It was the only thing she could do that could truly take her mind off what happened. All her focus, determination, and thoughts were channeled into the perfect movement and placement of the yarn. For once in the past few days, she finally found some sort of peace, and April was not about to give that up because he wanted to talk.

Unable to formulate words to express exactly what she needed to know, Alex looked away from her, breaking the conversation immediately. Without any words, April shook her head and returned to her loom. Alex only watched her, carefully, as she continued to work with her yarn, determined to make something perfect.

Moments later, after a breath of confidence, he told her, "He cares about you, April. More than you know."

His words stopped her movements as she took in the meaning, but she still did not look up at him.

"April, I said—"

"I heard you," April answered quietly after a moment, her voice wounded as if the truth pained her.

Alex could see that she was trying her hardest to hold back tears. Instead of looking at him, she hunched over her work and started, once more, to knit. It was obviously the only thing that brought her some peace and stability. "Hey, I, um, I have to go upstairs but I'll be right back okay?"

"Yeah."

It wasn't until Alex left the room that her hidden sniffles turning into sobs. April's hands shook as she attempted to continue with the work. Every so often, her body convulsed from her crying, the sadness of his words overwhelming her. Her hands fisted in her hair, April was vaguely aware that she sobbed violently through aching gasps and long, flooded tears.

She couldn't take this agony much longer.

When Alex returned, April had subsided her tears to stiff snivels. Looking up at him, she asked gently, "Did he say that to you, Alex?"

"He didn't have to."

"Why not?"

"For men," Alex told her carefully after a moment, "tears express more than words ever could."

Slowly, April nodded.

Alex watched her as her eyes frantically moved around the kitchen, searching for something as if a lightbulb had gone off and she remembered she needed to do something important. He frowned when she stopped, looking at him. "What?"

"Do you have the keys to the car?" She sighed when he pulled them out of his pocket and showed them to her. "Can I have them?"

Alex threw them on the table. "You going somewhere?"

"Yeah." She grabbed them, pulling them closer with a sharp intake of breath.

"Where are you going?"

"To check something out." Without another word, or explanation, she walked out of the room. Alex could only stand in the middle of the empty kitchen, confused, as the door slammed gently behind her.


	11. The Suspect

"Dr. Hunt?"

Owen turned around from the chart he was glancing over, and gave Lexie Grey a smile as she moved toward him. Her frantic, frazzled movements, however, wiped the smile right off his face. She was in the pit with him today, and any negative looks concerned him. Though Lexie Grey was no longer an intern, Owen knew only certain people could handle the pit. He had yet to learn if she was one of those people, and frowned slightly. "Yes, Dr. Grey?"

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure," he answered with a wave of his hand, turning back to his chart again.

"No sir," she continued, stepping toward him. Her voice lowered as she added, "In private."

Owen's head perked up at her words and he frowned slightly. "About what?"

"It's about April."

Just her name sent a pang of guilt through his body. The past couple of days, Owen had trouble differentiating between the woman he had known back in Iraq and the young woman he was facing in this hospital. The thought of failing yet another colleague had damaged his confidence that he resolved to go see April to check in on her, let her know she had an ally in him. He simply had to will his legs to move, and his heart to get past the pain caused by the thought that he might lose another colleague. "What about her?"

"Can we _please _talk in private, Dr. Hunt?"

With a sigh, Owen handed his chart to the nurse at the station and led Lexie into a private conference room he normally reserved to sit and complete work – to step away from the chaos of the pit for just a minute. When he shut the door gently, he turned to face Lexie and asked, "What's wrong, Dr. Grey?"

She nervously twisted her hands together. "I'm not sure what the protocol is on this, Dr. Hunt."

"What are you talking about, Dr. Grey?"

She breathed in for confidence before rambling, "A man just came into the pit, sir, and he had…Well, we checked the records and he was in the emergency room the same night that April was attacked."

Owen crossed his arms. "That doesn't mean anything, Grey. Plenty of people were in the emergency room that night."

"I know, sir, but…" She took a step forward. "I checked April's report and he has the same injuries that she said he had when…you know."

"Grey…"

"I _am _sure about this," Lexie persisted. "And he matches the sketch that April did. He matches it almost perfectly. And if we check his DNA, I'm sure we'd find that this is the man who attacked her."

"He did more than attack her," Owen commented quietly. "But we don't make any accusations about this until we are one hundred percentsure if not close to that, do you understand?"

"I do."

Owen nodded. "Good. Now, let's get the police in here just in case. And," he added as an afterthought, "see if Kepner will come in."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know it's super short, but I wanted to give you guys **_**something**_** after such a long wait. Also, I **_**am not**_ **giving up on this story. Life is just hectic right now, and my inspiration for this story sort of waned without any new Grey's. So, I'm sorry for that, but I am determined to see this story through!**


	12. To Accept the Things I Cannot Change

****A/N: I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated, and to those who like this story and still read it, I am terribly sorry for that. My only excuse is that I haven't had the inspiration to continue until now. But, I'll keep this going and update as frequently as I can, just know that I **_**will **_**finish it. Come hell or high water, I will complete it.****

* * *

><p>April was surprised she still remembered where Robert lived, and even more surprised that she had found his apartment within seconds. His door was closed shut but she could see a faint crack of light where the wood failed to meet the floor.<p>

With a heavy sigh, and even heavier heart, April knocked three times on the door, using all the strength she had in her in case he had fallen asleep.

April wanted to turn back and run when she heard a shuffling of feet and the sound of a deadbolt unlocking. It wasn't too late to leave, April mused quickly. She could still make it down the hallway and into the stairwell without him noticing. She could still escape if she wanted, still flee.

Her chance of escape, a chance she knew she'd never have taken, ended the moment his door opened and he stared her straight in the face, his eyes lighting in a surprise that matched hers.

The surprise in Robert's eyes drifted away to leave a steady, calm, and patient resolve he normally reserved for surgery. "April, what are you doing here?"

"C-Can we talk?"

"Sure," he agreed, his voice soft in a mixture of concern and awe. "Sure, come on in."

April's eyes instantly averted his, quickly glancing down at the carpeted floor, and then back up at him like a scared child who wasn't prepared to admit her feelings, a strong sense of guilt keeping her words from revealing themselves. Uncomfortable, she shifted slightly on her heels and nervously met his gaze.

"Oh," he exhaled, understanding what she was trying to say. Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Well, we can go somewhere else if you'd like? We could go to a restaurant or-or go for a cup of coffee, if you'd like. We can do whatever. I'm fine with anything. You know what—"

"If you don't stop yourself," April gently quipped, "you're going to start sounding like me." She shrugged, growing increasingly uncomfortable when he only gave her a small smile, seeing the humor but not finding it very funny. "I can come in."

"You don't have to."

"But I can."

"But if you aren't comfortable—" He was caught off guard when she shoved passed him, pushing him to the side as she made a brave stride into his apartment. Robert bit back his frown, closing the door carefully behind him as he turned to face her.

What caught Robert off guard was not that she had made her up her mind, but that she had done it so suddenly. The April he once knew would have weighed her options, considered the outcome of each scenario, played out how it would look, and then finally make a decision. And to top that off, she had used force when he had resisted – she had pushed him aside and boldly made her move, something he knew she _never _would have done before the assault. The April he knew would have waited for an invitation, and would have accepted his rejection if he refused her passage inside.

But April had done none of the things Robert thought she would have, and the thought both concerned him and gave him a sense of awe, a knowledge that before him the woman he had fallen hard for was changing in unpredictable ways.

April quickly took in his apartment, the simple colors and basic furniture of a man who obviously wasn't going to live here long, before she turned to face him. With a weak shrug, she managed, "I don't like having my back to people very much."

"That's understandable."

Her head cocked slightly. "Do you, Robert?"

It was the first time she had used his first name, and it nearly took him off his feet; she caught him so off guard that his mouth hung open slightly before he recovered and managed, "Do I what?"

"Understand."

Robert swallowed hard. "I've never been through what you've gone through."

"No," she agreed somberly as she glanced down at her shoes, "no you haven't."

Unsure of how to respond to that, if there was anything he really could say, Robert shoved his hands in his fleece pockets and asked, "You said that you wanted to talk, April? What about?"

"Can we sit?"

"We can do anything you'd like."

As much as April appreciated the gesture, she was sick of everyone saying that. She was so _so _sick of everyone treating her like a doll about to be broken, even though she was certain her shell had already shattered to leave her bare, cold, and vulnerable. It was sweet, she knew, that people took her desires into consideration, and she knew why they did it, too – they wanted her to have some sense of control.

But couldn't they all see that her control was gone? Couldn't they see that she wasn't in control of anything anymore? Or were they all too blinded by their own concern and pain for her that they couldn't see the truth? The truth that no matter what they did or said, no matter how considerate they all attempted to be, the only person that was going to make her the most comfortable and powerful was herself.

And right now, at the moment when she stood in Robert Stark's apartment, April couldn't help but feel torn, torn between the past and the present, stuck in a limbo between her greatest moment of powerlessness and the moment when she had the greatest potential to finally take control of the entire situation.

April nearly wanted to cry when she realized she couldn't move, couldn't bring herself to move from her past and embrace the power or helplessness the future potentially held.

April watched him wearily walk into his living room, and she vaguely recognized he wasn't comfortable here, either.

Her head turned slightly to see that he perched himself on the edge of the couch, watching her, waiting for her move when she wasn't even sure if she had the strength. She wanted to cry, to just break down in his living room and sob until there were no tears left, until the tears morphed into exhaustion and the exhaustion finally granted her sleep that was free of hellish nightmares.

And for no reason other than the fact that she could, that was exactly what she did, and there April stood, breaking down in his living room like she hadn't shed one tear over her assault before.

For a moment Robert was too surprised to move. Within moments he recovered and stood. Instead of gathering her in his arms and allowing her to sob against his shoulder like he wanted to, Robert gently put his hands on her shoulders and waited for her to look at him.

Minutes passed before she finally did, and he commented, "Your wounds are healing nicely, April. Sloan did a good job."

Her laugh was strangled. "He's the best for a reason."

"He's not too bad."

April smiled weakly and met his gaze when he slowly began to inspect her wounds. "Does it look good?"

"I just said that." Robert closed his eyes instantly and forced a breath before he added, "I'm sorry, April. I didn't…I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I'm sorry."

"I know." Their dates had shown April that Robert Stark wasn't the monster everyone had thought he was. "You don't apologize very often, do you?"

"It's not very often that I'm wrong," he answered with a shrug as his fingertips barely grazed over her healing eye socket, but not gentle enough to stop her from flinching. "That had to hurt."

"More than you know."

"I never wanted any of this to happen to you April," he remarked softly, biting back his frown when her eyes danced around the room, anything to avoid his strong, honest gaze. When she refused to look at him, instead fixating on the logo on his fleece, he offered, "We can talk about something else if you'd like."

"Yes, please."

"Do you want to sit?"

"No."

Robert nodded slowly when the mention of fabric against her clothes, against her skin, brought her to an immediate standstill, her body rigid. When she didn't move, instead almost cowering beside him, he asked, "April?"

April looked up at him and tried to mask the sadness in her eyes. "I was just thinking. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. For anything."

She smiled weakly in response and shrugged slightly. "Maybe I will sit."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he reassured her gently. "I just…I want you to make yourself at home."

She almost wanted to scoff at that, or maybe roll her eyes. What would he say to her if she said she didn't feel like she had a home anymore? That the monster who had attacked her had not only destroyed her personal sense of safety but completely ripped apart her physical sense of safety in Meredith's house. Would he stare at her shell-shocked, or would he offer advice that she needed from someone, from anyone really, who wasn't going to treat her like she was a rape survivor?

Was it too much to ask for a normal conversation? Or was she simply too naïve to think that people could just for one second not look at her and see a woman who had survived a horrifically brutal assault?

April wasn't sure which option she preferred, but she opted to prove the first one wrong as she settled into his recliner, crossing her legs as he settled into the couch adjacent to her, resting his elbows on his knees and staring down at his hands. Silence left her searching for words, scouring her heart in an attempt to bring forth the words she needed to say to him.

She blinked before glancing up, and anything she would have said drifted from her mind the minute April met his open, imploring eyes. "I expected coldness from you, not…this."

He didn't look offended, or even surprised. "I would have given that to you, too."

"So what's changed?"

He shrugged. "Everything, I guess. I…I'm worried about you, April. I don't want to see you like this, no matter how I've treated you in the past."

"So it took a man assaulting me to get you, someone I thought of as a friend, to be nice to me?"

His eyes fell to his feet, ashamed as he nodded slowly and murmured his agreement.

April sighed softly, rubbing her thumbs together. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "Why'd you stop over today?"

"I told you," he repeated, attempting to bite back the irritation in his voice, "that I wanted to see if you were all right."

"You couldn't have done that at the hospital?"

"April," he huffed in exasperation, "you haven't exactly been at the hospital. And every time I've tried to talk to you, or any of us, for that matter, Dr. Bailey asks as if we're going to—"

She raised a curious eyebrow when he suddenly stopped. "Going to what? Attack me?"

Robert didn't answer, and instead kept her gaze. He nodded his assent weakly before reminding her, "I do care about you, April, regardless of what our history is. I never wanted to see you hurt. Not like this. And today…Today I just wanted to see that you were doing all right."

"But that's just it," she responded, nearly choking on her tears. "I'm _not_ doing all right. And people don't see that. I mean…People do see it, but there's not anything they can do about it. Nothing anyone can say or do is going to change how I feel."

"Maybe if you talk about it—"

"I'm sick of talking about it! I don't even want to _think_ about it!" Her hands balled in fists so tight that her knuckles began to turn white. April shook her head, and drew in a heavy breath to fend off her tears. "I don't even want to think about it, but I can't stop thinking about it."

"Oh, April—"

"And _that's _why I can't talk about it," she cut him off. "Because _that's _the response I get! Oh, April. Oh, I'm so sorry. Oh, I wish it didn't happen to you. Oh, I wish there was something I could do. Oh this, oh that. Do you know what that's like? Do you have any idea what it's like to be reminded by everyone that you were sexually assaulted?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, it's hell," she retorted angrily and sat back in the recliner with such force that it creaked. Her body tensed at the sound, at a memory she didn't want to see, and her eyes screwed shut. This was what she wanted to avoid. This was what she never wanted to feel again, but like an annoying, persistent child, it wasn't going to leave her alone. It haunted her dreams, and taunted her when she was awake, and there was no way to escape it.

Why couldn't she just forget it ever happened? Why couldn't April just pretend it never happened and go back to business as usual, to the perky, organized surgeon she'd trained herself to be? And _why the hell _did any of this have to happen to her? What could she possibly have done to deserve any of these restless nights caused by horrific nightmares she couldn't describe? What could she possibly have done to feel like she didn't belong in her own skin, like her world was shaking all around her and there was nothing she could do but watch?

Why did no one see that this was hurting her more than they realized?

Or, she mused as she caught Robert's concerned glance, maybe they did see how much she was hurting. And maybe, like her, they had no idea how to make things better, how to make the pain stop or the thoughts go away. Maybe, like April, they all had fallen victim to the malice of a psychopath.

"Robert?"

He murmured softly, clasping his hands together in an invitation for her to continue.

"Can I tell you something? Something…Something personal." She swallowed hard when his eyes grew wider and he shrugged, waiting for her to continue. Her throat closed on itself, and she thought for a minute that she'd lost her ability to breathe, but then she met his eyes again, the same eyes that had apparently cried over her situation, the same eyes that had once looked at her with a mixture of adoration, and then later a mixture of hate.

Now he only implored her to continue, welcomed her to tell him whatever it was, and for a moment April wasn't sure she could.

April wasn't sure she could do anything anymore.

Like a saving grace, her phone rang in her pocket, and the moment slipped away from her.

He glanced at her pocket, then up at her. The phone rang and vibrated against her leg until it fell silent, and he heard a beep a few moments later telling them both she had received a voicemail. "Well, aren't you going to answer that, Kepner?"

Her head snapped up, and she swallowed again. "No."

"Are you okay, Kepner? Do you want a glass of water?" Her voice had cracked, sounding drier than a desert. "I can get you—"

"I don't want anything!"

Robert nodded slightly in understanding. "Okay. Okay. It's…No water."

April sniffled slightly, shaking her head in a way that made her curls bounce. "No, it's not okay. It's not…"

She started to cry again, and this time he couldn't sit by and watch her breakdown. He had to do something, _anything_, to let her know that she wasn't here alone, that she wasn't in this alone and had people she could count on.

Robert slowly rose from the couch and knelt in front of her, offering her distance but getting close enough to rest his hands on the armrests of the chair. "April," he pleaded when she covered her hand over her mouth in a sob and tucked her chin to her chest so her hair fell over her face. "April, please look at me."

She did, and instantly wished she hadn't. He looked close to tears, and that only made her cry harder.

April just wanted all of it to end.

"April, it's okay, really," he tried to reassure her tenderly. "It's okay for you to get angry. You can get angry, April. God knows I deserve it."

She managed a chuckle and wiped away her tears with a sharp intake of breath. "You certainly do after all you've put me through."

Any other time and he would have fought her on it, but it was hard to argue with a crying woman, and it was even harder to argue when his heart hurt so much. She was scared, exhausted, and increasingly emotional in front of him, and he worried she couldn't see the light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. "April—"

"It's not okay," she suddenly told him, growing serious and firm despite the tears in her eyes. "None of this is okay. None…" She sputtered off, nearly hyperventilating from her tears. "None of it."

Again, Robert fought the urge to gather her in his arms. "W-What were you going to say, April, if you don't mind me asking?"

It took her a few moments to compose herself, and she took a deep breath before she answered, "When he….When he, well, you know…" She bit her lip hesitantly. "It was my first time."

Robert failed at hiding his surprise; her news leveled him almost as much as her tears. "Your very first time?"

"Yes."

Well, that certainly gave him the real reason why she had bailed on him the moment he suggested their date occur at his apartment. And that only fueled his rage as his hands tightened on the fabric of the armrest, turning _his _knuckles white. "You wait twenty eight years and that's what you get?"

She laughed at the ridiculousness of it. "I know! God, can you believe it? Twenty eight years and I lose my virginity to rape! Talk about unjust things."

Fearing a smile at her incredulous laugh would push it too far, he gently allowed his fingers to touch her arm. When April immediately tensed, almost pulled away, Robert feared he had miscalculated. But then she looked at him, and the tears in her eyes didn't reflect fear, but sadness because he could see now she worried no man would ever touch her again without an instinctive flinch. "April—"

"And you want to know the sick thing about it?" Tears began to run down her reddened cheeks as she let out a strangled whimper. "_He laughed_. He stopped and laughed when he realized it. He laughed!"

He swallowed hard. "And then?"

She shrugged. "And then he kept going. And his eyes…His eyes laughed at me, too, and it was then that I realized, that I thought that maybe he should have laughed. Maybe he had every right to laugh. Maybe he got a kick out of it, out of what it would do to me because you know what? I don't ever want _anyone_ to touch me again, let alone a man. Maybe that's why he laughed. Because this—" Her hand gently touched his wrist. "Even this makes me want to curl up and cry."

April stopped him when he tried to pull away from her, grabbing his hand firmly in her own. Following his gaze, she looked down at their joined hands and was grateful that the touch of his skin against her own didn't send her spinning back into herself.

"Your hands are softer than I expected."

"You expected sandpaper?"

April shrugged, turning their hands over so she could see the lines on his palm beneath her hand. "No. But…They're softer than I thought. You have soft hands."

"April?"

"Hm?"

"Why'd you tell me you were a virgin when this happened? That's extremely personal."

She averted his gaze, and shrugged. "I just…" April looked at his eyes again and bit her bottom lip. "I just wanted to let you know that's the real reason why I broke our night off. I was scared. Everyone said you'd be trying to take my pants off, and I freaked out. And I wanted you to know that it wasn't you. I didn't turn you down because of you. I turned you down because I was scared and nervous and that just made me more scared and more nervous. It wasn't you, Robert. It was me. It's always been me."

"Don't say that." When she looked away from him again, he turned persistent. "Hey. April, look at me. This is not your fault, do you understand me? None of this is your fault. You did _nothing _wrong. Nothing."

She furiously blinked back tears as she choked out, "Maybe if I'd sex sooner it wouldn't have hurt so much." April sniffled when his eyes brimmed with tears. "It hurt _so_ much. I haven't felt anything like that ever, not physically. And I couldn't help but think as he…as he continued…that maybe I wouldn't have screamed so loudly, and maybe if I hadn't have screamed he wouldn't have hit me harder, and if he hadn't hit me harder I wouldn't have tried to bite him, and if I hadn't bitten him then maybe he wouldn't have gotten so angry, and then maybe he wouldn't have raped me again. Maybe…"

Robert glanced down at her hands, at her wrists where he could see exactly the placement of handcuffs. She had fought hard, her skin still raw and red from the strength she had tried to use to fend off his attack. He fought to control his temper and sadness as he looked back up at her, at eyes that no longer looked sad, but cold, like he wasn't talking to April anymore, but the shell her rapist had left behind.

"Can I tell you something else, Robert?"

"Anything."

"I don't think I'll ever feel safe in my own skin again," she admitted sadly, her voice cracking. "No matter how much therapy I go through. I don't think…Knowing he's out there, I don't think I'll ever sleep or feel safe again."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Unless you want to find a man with no name and kill him for me…" April faintly smiled when he shrugged. That was sweet, but not enough to calm her. "I don't think it's anything you can do, Robert. Just me." She snorted. "Always me."

Robert glanced down at her leg again when her phone rang again. "You should answer that."

April pulled her phone out. It was Lexie. With a soft exhale, she shoved the phone back into her pocket. Whatever it was, April was certain it could wait.

It couldn't possibly be that important anyway.

"Hey," he offered energetically once her phone silenced, "why don't we go for a walk? You look like you could use some fresh air."

April couldn't remember the last time she'd walked outside. No, she realized suddenly, that wasn't true. She remembered perfectly; she'd never forget the night one man had singlehandedly and violently destroyed her life.

Her annoyance grew when her phone rang again. Instead of letting it sound and vibrate, she quickly ignored the call from Lexie and made the rash decision to turn her phone off.

The decision felt so liberating, and April smiled weakly when she shoved her phone back in her pocket. "Yes," she answered with a firm nod, "I'll go on a walk with you, but you have to make me a promise."

"Name it, Kepner."

"Can we not walk by the hospital? By that street?"

"We can go anywhere you'd like," he agreed, exhaling as he stood and offered her his hand, which she accepted and rose with him. "Anything else?"

April cocked her head slightly. "Can we get hot chocolate?"

Robert laughed. "I know this cute little bookstore we can go to. You'll love it there." He grabbed his keys, and followed her out of his apartment into the hallway. "Are there any other requests you'd like to make, Kepner, while you can get anything and everything out of me?"

"Protect me?"

Robert smiled. "Done."


	13. It's Enough

**A/N: **I'm a terrible updater, and I blame on my semester of hell. But that's over now! I hope everyone likes this chapter! :)

* * *

><p>"No one would understand," April muttered to herself with a shake of her head as she shoved the book back into the cramped shelf. She hadn't looked at the title. She hadn't cared enough. She'd seen an image of a half naked man, his arms draped around a woman who wore only a towel, and she lost interest. April lost interest and moved to the next one as Robert followed behind her, and she didn't dare turn around to see his response to the book she'd chosen.<p>

"How can they if you don't let anyone in?"

April glared at him before she grabbed the next book she saw, and flipped through it with disinterest. Anything to stop her from having to meet Robert's calm, waiting gaze. "They still wouldn't understand." April shoved the book back into the shelf and stared at him accusingly. "Do you?"

"Well no," Robert stepped with her as she walked down the aisle. His fingertips brushed against a few of the bindings as he told her, "But I do want to help regardless."

April murmured. "Is that why you dragged me to a bookstore?"

"It's calming."

"Not to me."

Robert nodded slowly before he stepped toward her, careful not to break her personal boundary in case it startled her. With a few feet between them, he leaned toward her with one shoulder and gently asked, "What does calm you then? Maybe we can do that?"

April's eyes screwed shut, and she tried to think about it. What calmed her? Correction: what had calmed her? She wasn't sure what helped her find peace anymore, not when peace was so far in the dark that she didn't even consider it an option. _Think, April_, she encouraged, remembering Dr. Wyatt's words. _Think about happiness. Happiness. Happiness. You've got in you somewhere._

April looked up, and her eyes slowly opened as she answered, "Structure makes me happy. Order, order makes me happy."

"Anything else?"

"Feeling safe."

"And you don't feel safe anymore?" Robert bit his bottom lip and winced when she glared at him. "All right, stupid question."

"Yeah." April forced a book out of its safe spot in the shelf, flipped some pages, and turned her back to him. As she walked down the aisle, she heard Robert's steps follow hers.

He didn't flinch as she abruptly turned to face him. No words came from his closed mouth, but April stared at him as if he'd spoken something she hadn't heard. Her eyes widened, at least the one she could still open with ease, and her body leaned into him. "April?"

"Do you know what it's like, Robert? Not to feel safe in your own skin? To feel like you have no control of your body or emotions?"

"I've lost control once."

"Because of rape?"

"No, but something traumatic none the less."

April nearly laughed; she hadn't done that in such a long time that she figured she didn't even know how anymore. "What could possibly be more traumatic than what I'm experiencing right now? I can't think of anything."

"Everyone has their own demons to battle, April."

"And you're saying I shouldn't judge others or think their problems any more trivial than mine?"

"I never said that."

"But you're thinking it," she challenged.

"Never," Robert promised.

April snorted and turned back to the books, her fingers dusting the bindings. "I don't believe you."

Robert watched her fingers brush against the dusty bindings, curve along the warped hard covers, and tap, sometimes in interest, other times boredom, on the titles. When she settled upon one cover, brown and worn, and pulled it out, he asked, "Do you want to go somewhere different? We can-"

"I want to go home."

His eyebrow raised in curiosity when she met his eyes, open, honest, too fragile for her own good and too scared for him to get close. Robert had never stood closer than a few feet away, and April took a step back now, the book tight against her chest as she held it. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was worried he would reach out and strike her, add more pain to the healing wounds on her face.

"I can take you home, April," Robert offered after a moment. "To Meredith's."

"Not that home." April's eyes closed and she shook her head. "That...That place doesn't feel like home anymore. It's not home. Not when..."

"Not when what?"

"Nothing."

Robert didn't push April because he knew by the way she looked down at her hands, hands that gripped the book like it was a safety line. Robert knew he lost her, and wished he hadn't pushed. He couldn't take it back now, so instead he questioned, "Where's home, April?"

"Moline, Ohio."

"Your hometown?" When April nodded, Robert shrugged. "Why don't you go there then? If that's where you call home-"

"But that's just it," April admitted, tears brimming in her eyes, "_that_ doesn't even feel like home anymore. How can I go back there? How can I go back there and pretend that everything is okay, that everything is normal and that I'm safe when it's just not true?"

"You don't have to pretend that you're fine, April. Your parents, your family, they are there to support you through this. You don't need to pretend with-"

"They don't even know."

"I'm sorry?"

"They don't even know," April repeated, and as the words tumbled out of her mouth, her hand flew to her mouth and she swallowed back a sob that threatened to claim her. She fumbled and was unable to stop the tears, hot and burning as they rolled slowly down her cheeks, off her face, and onto the sleeve of her jacket. "My God! They don't even know!"

"You didn't tell them what happened?"

"I know what you're thinking," April stopped him from berating her by holding up her hand, like that would really do anything, and shook her head. "I know you're thinking I should have told them, that they should know, but...God, I don't even...They can't know."

"You're their daughter."

"And it would kill them! To know that someone did something so horrible to me, to their daughter. It _will_ kill my parents. They can't know. I can't...I have to spare them that. Just because I'm suffering doesn't mean they have to."

"They can help you, April."

"How? By telling me what everyone else is?" April challenged. She took a quick, fearful step back when Robert took one forward. Glaring at him, at the way his body immediately tensed and he put his hands up in surrender, she commented, "It's uncomfortable, I know. I wouldn't want to be around me either."

"There's no where else I'd rather be."

She laughed in scorn and shook her head. "I can think of a dozen places I'd rather be."

"Then let's go somewhere else. You want to take that walk now? It may do you good, the fresh air."

"You know what I want?" She laughed again when he nodded. "I want," her hand curled into a tight, furious fist as she shook it in the air, "I want for people to stop telling what will do me good. How can someone say that? Oh, it'll do you good. How do you know? How do you know what will do me good? How do _you _of all people know what will do me good? Tell me that."

"I don't."

"You don't," April agreed and shook her head, not caring that his voice had lowered in guilt, an emotion she wasn't sure she'd ever heard from him. "You don't. No one does. So don't you dare stand here and tell me what will be good for me. You don't know."

"I"m just trying to help you April," Robert pleaded. "I'm just...I'm just trying to help you. I care about you. I..." He faltered with a shake of his head, and for the first time April thought he was going to cry. "I care about you."

"I'm glad someone does."

"Everyone does, April," Robert whispered with another disbelieving shake of his head. "God, everyone cares about you. You don't see that?"

"I see scorn, and ridicule, and contempt, and pity. I see so much pity. Even in your eyes now." Tears cloud her vision, and she wiped them away furiously. "In your eyes now I see so much pity that I want to take a scalpel and gauge your _freaking_ eyes out just so I don't have to see it! So I don't have to feel it and know, know with everything that I am, that the world pities me. Everyone pities me. Everyone feels sorry for me."

He didn't stop her as she slammed the book against the shelf, and it fell with a loud thud. Robert didn't dare look at it, not for more than second, before he glanced up at her again.

"And you know what's sad, Robert? You know what's the worst part?"

"There's nothing anyone can do to help you?"

"That," April agreed, as if the thought had never crossed her mind, "and I feel so, so alone. Everyone is there for me. Everyone surrounds me and supports me. You, Dr. Bailey, Dr. Hunt, Dr. Torres, everyone. People I don't even know. Everyone has my back. And the worst part, really the worst part, is I've _never_ felt more alone in my entire life. And I say that to you now, and I see it in your eyes that you want to help, but even now...Even now there is nothing you can do. It's all on me. It's all on me to move on, to heal, to rebuild."

"You aren't alone," he tried to make her see in a promise he wished he could keep. "You aren't."

"Sure doesn't feel that way." April shook her head and shrugged, not caring that tears streamed down reddening cheeks, that her eyes burned and her head hurt. After a few moments, she composed herself enough to say, "Dr. Wyatt thinks I should join a support group for assault victims."

"What do you think?"

"I can't even get my head around it myself. How can other people help?"

"Talking helps. Do you feel better now?"

"No."

"Do you still want that hot chocolate?"

"No."

"What do you want, April?" He wasn't frustrated with her, but concerned, especially when her hands started to shake. He wanted to take her hands in his, warm them with his own, and not let go until she was calm, until she could breathe right and feel safe again. "We can do anything you want. I can leave you alone, if you want."

"I actually really want that hot chocolate now."

"Hot chocolate?"

"You said before we left your apartment that we could get hot chocolate," April reminded him. She swallowed hard, and wiped away tears with the hem of her sleeve. "I really want that hot chocolate right now."

"Then let's go get you that hot chocolate."

When they had ordered and settled down into two adjacent chairs, April with her legs crossed primly, and Robert with his elbows on his knees and coffee in his hands, April found the courage to look up and stare at the man who tried so hard to help her. He sat, hunched over, and looked as deplorable as she felt. April couldn't fight the pang of pity that stabbed at her heart. Exhaustion lined his face, and Robert looked as close to the brink as she felt.

"Robert?"

"Yeah, April?"

"You look like you could use a nap."

He laughed, tapped his fingers against the styrofoam cup, and smiled. "I could. It's been a long week. A nap would be really, really nice."

"Tell me about it."

After a moment of silence, Robert glanced up at her and asked in curiosity, "Do sleeping pills help?"

"Not really," April admitted with a sigh. "I sleep for a short while and then I wake up and...And I can't go back to sleep. I don't sleep much either. It's pretty rare."

Before Robert could comment, he was stopped by the vibration of April's cell phone, lighting up and shaking the fabric of her jeans. He chuckled and remarked, "You really should answer that phone, April. It definitely sounds like it's something important."

April did as he suggested, sick of the phone calls from Jackson and Lexie she wanted to ignore, and answered, "What do you want, Jackson?"

"_April, I've been trying to reach you forever."_

"My phone's been on silent," April lied, and shared a smile with Robert when he smirked. The first smile she'd had in a long time felt better than she imagined it would. When there was no response, she asked, "What do you want, Jackson?"

_"They need you to come to the hospital."_

"Why?"

_"Dr. Hunt wants to speak to you."_

"About?"

_"April, please just come in."_

Knowing Jackson wasn't going to just let this go, and despite knowing that whatever Dr. Hunt needed might hurt her, April sighed and agreed, "Okay. Tell Dr. Hunt I'll be there shortly. Just Dr. Hunt, Jackson. I don't want anyone else to know."

"_Not a problem. April?"_

"Yeah, Jackson?"

_"Thanks for picking up your phone. It's good to hear your voice."_

April smiled again, fainter than before, but still a smile. It felt good to be heard. "I'll be there shortly, Jackson." She hung up before he could response, and met Robert's concerned, curious gaze with a timid shrug. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Already done." Robert stood and extended his hand to her. When she took it, he grabbed it firmly in his and helped her up. When she smiled her thanks, Robert squeezed her hand in support, and let it fall the minute her hand relaxed against his, desiring to slip from his grasp. He would have held her hand longer if he could, would have held it until she looked at him in the eye, until he saw pain he _could_ help heal. "Let's go to the hospital and see what they need."

"Have I said thank you today?"

"I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter. I know."

"Thank you anyway."

"I haven't done much," Robert deflected. "Just bought you a hot chocolate. And took you to a bookstore you hate, apparently."

April smiled weakly. "It's enough." When Robert looked down at his hands and shrugged, April told him again, hoping he'd hear her this time, "It's enough."

For once, she actually believed it, too.


End file.
